Beginnings: Building a Space Station
by Xenitha
Summary: How International Rescue was formed; Learning to live in orbit isn't easy, especially when your younger brothers are better at it than you are.
1. Chapter 1

BEGINNINGS- BUILDING A SPACE STATION

SPACE

Day 1

Alan had always had the unhappy experience of watching his four brothers excel in areas where he couldn't compete. Scott was the daring, athletic brother whose charisma attracted girls like honey drew flies. Virgil was almost as bad. He played multiple instruments, painted gallery quality work and drew the artistic girls that weren't attracted to Scott. John was a genius with a bright future in astronomy or physics and could think circles around any of his brothers. Gordon was an Olympic swimmer.

Oh, and Alan was the youngest, adding to the pain. When you're the youngest, especially when there's a good age gap, there are two truths your life is ruled by: 1) You will always be the baby, even when you're an old man and 2) Your older siblings will feel it's their duty to watch out for you like an extra set of parents, the numerical amount of extra parents being equal to the number of older siblings. Alan wasn't sure he wanted FOUR extra fathers, but that's essentially what he'd been stuck with.

He'd gone into the NASA training program with good grades in math and physics, although nowhere near as good as John's. Still, he had the smarts to be an astronaut and made up for the differences by working his tail off and the extra discipline made a difference. Now Dad was offering the chance to be a real astronaut with his own ship; he wouldn't have to fight for command of the limited number of ships available through NASA or IASA. He found that very satisfying, as well as the chance to do some good in International Rescue simply by rescuing those who would otherwise die without IR help. His mother had died when he was too young to know her and that loss still reverberated through his family. He'd be glad to help some other kid keep his mother and not know that loss.

It wasn't until he started NASA training in a zero-G environment that Alan realized he had some abilities not shared by his older brothers. Alan had never gotten air or carsick in his life. The same held true for free fall. When the other trainees were losing their lunches, breakfasts and yesterday's dinners in the training shuttle, Alan felt fine. Invigorated, even.

And when he took his first spacewalk, Alan discovered that he was the only newbie who wasn't bothered by the lack of a defined up or down. Everyone else seemed to need to orient himself to a defined relative 'floor' and 'ceiling' but Alan was content just floating freely in open space.

Jeff Tracy had leased a large shuttle similar to the training shuttles used in orbit by NASA. Under John's supervision, they all experienced weightlessness for the first time. They wore plain jumpsuits since the shuttle was pressurized and the interior walls were padded. John went in first, then Scott floated in, followed by Virgil, Gordon and then Alan, since he'd had free fall training.

Within ten minutes, Scott was upchucking, followed by Virgil. Even Gordon looked very green in the face. John and Alan controlled their impulse to grin and floated around with the hand vacs, handing out air-sickness bags.

"I can't stand this," Virgil hung onto a strap and continued filling his air sickness bag at intervals.

"Can't go to space unless you adapt," Alan said sympathetically, taking the old one and sealing it, then handing Virgil a new one.

"You knew this could happen," John reminded them. "How are you doing, Gordon?"

Gordon was floating miserably in a corner with arms wrapped around himself. "Fine," he said briefly, then his eyes widened and he grabbed for his own bag and began to retch into it.

"How about you, Scott?" John asked his older brother. Scott looked up, then grimly continued filling his bag. John finally let the grin out. "So, Alan, what do you think? Where's Scott on the Garn scale?"

"I don't know, John," Alan replied. "I think he's at about one tenth of a Garn. It's Virgil who's really in contention." Alan eyed Virgil and patted him on the back. "Don't worry, Virg, it really does end."

"What's a Garn?" Gordon asked, gulping in air.

John shrugged and cast a glance at Alan, who smiled and floated upside down, then replied, "It's an old tradition from the twentieth century space program at NASA. Senator Jake Garn took a ride on the Space Shuttle in 1985 and was so incredibly space-sick that astronauts have since defined your level of illness by the Garn scale. The mark of being totally sick and totally incompetent is one Garn, but most astronauts only get to about one tenth of a Garn."

Virgil shuddered and said, "Thank you for sharing that, Alan."

"Don't we have any anti-nausea drugs for this?" Scott muttered.

John floated over to give Scott another air-sick bag and took the used one. "I'm sorry, Scott, but if you take anti-nausea drugs, it'll just slow down the adaptation process. In a day or two your body will adjust to the change in gravity and the nausea will fade away."

"You mean we have to feel like this for two days?" Gordon asked blearily. "How will we get any work done? And why aren't you two affected? Some NASA magic?"

Alan looked uncomfortably at John, who answered, "Good genes, as far as we can tell. Dad has never had any kind of motion sickness, even flying to the moon. Alan and I haven't had any problems either. On long road trips, usually it was Virgil and Scott who decorated the pavement. And Gordon never got car sick, but I don't know about seasickness."

Gordon grinned. "You didn't see me in the bathyscaphe. Small space, recirculated air and unpredictable motion? You bet I got sick. I just had drugs for it then. But if you say the barf bag is my friend, then I guess I just have to put up with it. Besides," he paused reflectively. "I don't feel so bad anymore. Just don't feed me any enchiladas for lunch again, okay?"

"Enchiladas?" Virgil's eyes widened. He grabbed the bag and began to use it heartily.

"It's okay, Virg," Alan said soothingly. "We have saltine crackers and tea. When…uh…if you get hungry, you can have that."

"When are we going to learn to spacewalk?" Scott asked tiredly. "Not today, I hope?"

"No, we'll give you guys a couple of days to acclimate before we do anything serious," John said. "For the time being, just try to enjoy being weightless. Tomorrow we'll go over the space suit safety and the basic rules of free fall."

"Yeah," said Gordon. "The first rule is to keep your barf bag close!"

The rest of the day went more smoothly, Alan reflected. While Alan and John had eaten a hearty dinner of chili and tortillas, their brothers had simply blanched and huddled as far away as possible so they couldn't smell the food. John, noticing the trouble Virgil was having, had Alan watching over him while he himself kept an eye on Gordon and Scott.

Finally, when Scott, Virgil and Gordon each looked thoroughly wiped out, although none of them would admit it, John bit back a smile and suggested they all go to bed. "I don't know about you," he said with a yawn. "But I'm ready for a good night's sleep." He stretched his arms out and rotated end to end before stopping himself with a hand on the ceiling grip.

Scott and Virgil watched him wistfully, still clutching their air-sickness bags, while Gordon took note of just how John had managed to orient himself. Finally, Virgil decided that his pride just wasn't worth it. "I'm pretty tired, I guess. I'd like to hit the sack," he said and ineffectively tried to swim toward his 'bunk', which was a cloth bag anchored to the far wall. Scott leaned forward as if to give Virgil a helpful push, when Alan intervened.

"Don't push him, Scott," Alan cautioned. "Remember Newton's third law. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction? You'll find yourself hitting the far wall. Come on, Virgil, let's get you tucked in for the night." He grabbed Virgil's coverall with one hand and began to pull himself forward using the other hand and the ceiling grabs."

Alan helped Virgil into the sack, then anchored a water bottle nearby. "You need to stay hydrated, Virg, no matter how nauseated you feel," he said, snapping the sleep sack closed. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

"I sure hope so," Virgil replied. "I think I've got a migraine on top of the nausea."

Gordon took hold of a ceiling grab and managed to haul himself over to his own 'bed'. "Come on, Scott, this is fun!" he laughed from the wall.

Gamely, Scott grabbed his own handhold and pulled himself forward slowly and carefully and was soon in his own sleep sack.

"Well, get some sleep. We'll see you in eight hours, huh?" Alan dimmed the lights and floated over to John at the opposite end of the shuttle.

"How's he doing?" John asked softly, nodding his head toward Virgil.

Alan frowned. "He isn't at a full Garn yet, but he's getting there. He might be someone who can't adapt, John. What do we do then?"

John's eyes narrowed as he looked over his dozing brothers. "Well, if he gets that bad, we'll give him some thoramin and you can take him down in the rocket. But let's give him some more time. He might just be slow in adjusting. I sure hope that Brains can make that artificial gravity system of his work, then none of this will be a problem on the space station or Thunderbird Three. "

"Unless Virgil has to EVA, then he'll just throw up in his space suit, endangering himself and the mission," Alan replied with a frown. "But in any case, there's nothing we can do now but work with him and hope the nausea clears up. So, what's the game plan for tomorrow? Not EVA yet, I hope."

"No," John replied. "They need more time to adjust to weightlessness and especially how to move themselves around in it. We'll work on that tomorrow and maybe try each of them on a jet pack one at a time and hope nobody goes crashing into a wall."

"Does this feel as weird to you as it does to me?" Alan asked.

"What?" said John.

"Teaching stuff to your big brothers when they're the ones who taught you how to drive a car and tie your shoes," Alan said with a shiver. "It just doesn't feel right to be telling Scott how to cope with weightlessness or supervise Virgil."

"I don't know, Alan," John said with a smile. "I kind of like it. You taking first watch?" He reached for his own sleep sack.

"Yeah. I'll relieve you in four hours then," Alan replied and grabbed a handle to propel himself into the cockpit of the shuttle. They had agreed that someone should be awake at all times in case of emergency or call from Tracy Island. As the youngest, Alan had drawn first watch. Not that he minded. He strapped himself into the pilot's seat and set the computer for a nice peaceful game of computer solitaire. It was nice when he was the only one awake and he was left to admire the stars. John wasn't the only Tracy with an interest in space, although Alan's was more of the adventuring type. He was a bit worried about Virgil, though. By the end of the day, his other brothers had stopped vomiting and were keeping down water at least. Poor Virg had just kept going through air-sickness bags.

John relieved him in four hours and Alan floated back to his own sleep sack. He stopped to check on Virgil before he went to bed, though. The water bottle had gone down a few inches, which heartened him. It would hurt if Virgil couldn't join the rest of the Tracy boys in space, like losing an arm or something.

He folded himself into his sack and closed his eyes, relishing the comfort of sleeping in free fall. No earthly mattress could compare to it. He wondered what Tin-Tin was doing tonight. She was still at school, studying for finals the last he'd heard. It was looking like she'd be as good an engineer as Virgil and a close second to Brains. That would be helpful to International Rescue and to him personally. He smiled, glad that his girl was going to be so close, and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Please review and let me know you're out there and actually reading this!

CHAPTER 2

DAY 2

Both Scott and Gordon were feeling better the next morning and, after being helped to shower and dress, ate breakfast along with John and Alan. Virgil just watched mournfully from his sleep sack with his air-sick bag held close.

Alan and John exchanged glances, but said nothing. While Gordon and Scott disposed of the meal trays, John caught Alan's eye and nodded toward the suit cabinet. Alan raised his eyebrows and gestured toward Virgil. "Let's let Virgil sleep in a bit, he had a rough day yesterday," John said smoothly. "Scott, would you mind going over the space suit stuff with Virgil later?"

Scott cast a worried glance toward Virgil. "He's not doing well, is he?" he asked.

"We'll give him some more time before we do anything," John replied, also looking at the form huddled in the sleep sack. "We'll go over the space suits with you and Gordon and you can show it to Virgil later, okay?"

Still not looking away from Virgil, Scott replied absently, "Sure."

Alan and John hauled five space suits out of the suit-cupboard and passed one full space suit to each of them.

Scott looked his over carefully and said, "Hey, these aren't the same suits we practiced with underwater. I thought we were going to use the personal suits, tailored to each of us individually. This one looks off the rack. In fact," he held it up against himself. "I think it's too short."

"Yeah, we're sorry about the last minute change. We talked Dad out of the personalized suits and these arrived just before liftoff," Alan said. "International Rescue needs suits that are flexible enough to be reused and modified for different wearers. For example, Scott, say you go on EVA or extra-vehicular activity as we call it, and discover that your glove is ripped? Whether your pressurization has failed yet or not, you have to go in asap and you can't reuse the suit, and doing heavy construction that can happen easily. If you only have one suit, you're stuck inside for good." He gestured at the cheaper suit he held. "You can pull this out of the cupboard, modify it for size and go back out again."

"The pieces are interlocking," John pulled his suit apart, gloves, helmet, forearms, pants connecting at the waist and then the ankle boots. The pieces floated around him. "Try this piece on for size. It should click right into the suit top you have." He pushed the pants toward Scott. "By the same token, you should be able to replace the gloves by unsnapping the old ones and replacing them with new."

"It will also give us the ability to build a new suit for someone we're rescuing, if he needs one," Alan said. "John and I discussed it with Father and he agrees that the flexibility is more important." He gathered his suit and held it between himself and his brothers. "I'm going to put the suit on. Watch carefully. You'll be dressing yourselves shortly." He grabbed a handhold and floated over to a hook on the wall and anchored the suit to it.

"At one G, you have leverage when you're putting on clothing. Here, you don't. The best imitation we could come up with was to anchor the suit on a wall to make it easier to wriggle into it with a foot bar underneath to keep you stationary," Alan said, slipping his feet under what looked like a towel bar. Then he inserted himself into the top portion of the suit, along with the rest of it, including the hygeinic plumbing, which drew grins and chuckles from his brothers. The smiles dropped when Alan, fully suited up, said, "Okay, now do it yourselves."

Afterwards, Alan wished he had filmed the next thirty minutes for blackmail purposes as Scott and Gordon, with liberal help from Alan and John, tried to put the suits on. The first problem arose when Scott's suit seemed to have two right gloves. Biting his lip, John dove into the cupboard for another left-handed glove.

Then Gordon, trying to fit his helmet onto the snap-lock, got it on backwards and it stuck shut. Ignoring the towel bar to anchor his feet, he lost contact with the wall. While a struggling Gordon slowly rotated end over end, Scott, John, Alan and, from his corner, Virgil, laughed until they cried.

"Let me out of this thing!" they could hear Gordon's voice, muffled by the helmet, shouting while he tried to tug the helmet free. At last, John took pity on him and pushed him over to a grab bar on the opposite wall.

"Hang on and try to stay here, okay?" John tapped on the helmet and shouted to Gordon.

Gordon nodded vigorously.

"And, before I rescue you, I want your solemn vow that you will never again put itching powder in my underwear drawer, pour dye in my shampoo or boobytrap any part of Thunderbird Five while I am in residence. Ever," John said to Gordon, peering into the helmet to make eye contact.

Gordon paused, thinking, until John made to float away and leave him. Then Gordon slowly nodded again.

"Okay, here goes," said John, and grabbing the helmet in both hands, planted his feet on the wall on either side of Gordon's head, twisted the helmet and pushed with his feet. The helmet made an audible 'pop' and John sailed away from Gordon to the opposite wall, where he hit with a loud bang.

Scott pushed off from the floor and floated over to John who, still holding the helmet in both hands, was shaking his head to clear it. "You okay, bro?" asked Scott with a half-grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine," saId John. "And it was worth it to get Gordon to stop playing pranks." He looked down at the helmet he held. "But the bad news for Gordon is that this helmet will need to be examined for leaks and so will the seal on that suit. Gordon, go find yourself another suit-top and helmet and put them on!"

With a groan, Gordon pushed himself off and floated toward the suit-cupboard.

* * *

><p>After John and Alan had drilled their two brothers in getting into and out of the suits, it was time for lunch.<p>

Scott floated over to Virgil, still in his sleep sack. "Virg," he asked. "Do you want some lunch?"

Virgil was silent a moment, embarrassed. Finally he shook his head. "No. I mean, I know I should, but I've been having trouble even keeping down water. I've never been this nauseated in my life. I mean, I'd take a chance on it, but when you throw up here...well, I saw John and Alan floating around with the hand-vacs yesterday." He gulped and closed his eyes. "Just thinking about it..." He grabbed for his sick-bag and made use of it.

John came over and heard Virgil's answer. When Virgil was done with the sick-bag, he handed him a clean one and took the used, then asked gently, "Do you want to go back to the Island? We can fly you home right now. You are already designing half of Thunderbird Five anyway, you don't have to stay up here and assemble her. You've got plenty of engineering work waiting for you back home."

Virgil frowned, his eyebrows meeting in the center. "No, John. I'm here to do a job and I'll do it." He began to unfasten the sleep sack but Scott stopped him and undid the snaps himself, then met John's eyes and said,

"I think Virgil might need a little help if he's staying."

"Agreed," John said, motioning to Alan. "Al, will you get out the Thoramin? I think Virgil will be more comfortable that way."

"FAB," Alan replied and pushed off from the wall, floating to one of the cabinets. Then he tugged himself across the room to John and handed him the kit. Virgil was hanging on to his sleep sack by now, looking greenly at his brothers.

"I don't have to take a pill or anything, do I?" he asked wearily. "I mean, I don't think I'll keep it down."

"Don't worry," John said, pulling out a pre-loaded pen-syringe. "One shot and you're good for twelve hours, then we'll see how you're doing." He dialed up a dose, grabbed his brother's upper arm and swabbed it with an alcohol towelette, then emptied the syringe in his arm. "You should start to feel better in about ten minutes."

"Scott," John suggested. "Go ahead and eat lunch, and save a plate for Virgil. He'll probably want it. I'll stay here with him until he's feeling better and get him showered and dressed."

"FAB," said Scott and carefully propelled himself across the shuttle using the hand-grabs to rejoin Gordon and Alan at the table.

The end of the shuttle nearest the cockpit had a catering area with refrigerator, microwave and garbage chute along with a table fastened to the floor. At dinner the night before, Alan had shown them how to slip their feet under a towel bar beneath the table to anchor themselves. Disposable plates came out of the microwave with removable covers and the food was prepared with sticky sauces that kept it adhered to the plate until it was scooped up.

"You know," said Scott, scraping his plate with the plastic spoon. "The food isn't up to Kyrano's standard, but it's not bad. Now, if we only had some of Grandma's apple pie, I'd be a contented man."

"You'd be a full man," said Gordon, finishing his portion. "And you'd be trying to sneak the rest of the pie away from us."

Alan gave them a mysterious smile. "How do you know we didn't pack some? It's not Grandma's but Kyrano sent some pie and some fudge brownies. Thing is," he said, leaning back and stretching his arms overhead. "I'm the only one who knows where they're stored. You're going to have to earn 'em." He flashed a beatific smile at his speechless older brothers.

"How the worm has turned," said Gordon in an awe-filled voice. "Two days ago, he was just our whiny little brother. But today..."

"Yeah," said Scott to Gordon in a sorrowful tone. "Well, you know they say that absolute power corrupts absolutely," he sighed, then got up and moved his tray over to the trash chute and flashed Alan a feral grin. "Just remember, Alan, we have long memories and you have to go home sometime."

Alan wasn't buying it. "Doesn't matter. We're here, right now," he said, taking his own tray over and disposing of it. "And I may never get this chance again." He smiled, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Oh, for pete's sake," Scott muttered and gave it up.

* * *

><p>After lunch, John and Alan got the suits out again. This time, Scott and Gordon were able to suit up without help. Virgil was feeling better, so they both helped him suit up as well.<p>

"Okay, now that we have Virgil, let's go over the last part of the suits," John said. "First, a quick run-through of the safety protocols. You have a panel of safety lights on your forearm," he raised his right arm. "Check to make sure that all the tell-tales are green. That confirms that your suit is fully sealed."

Each brother checked his arm and held it out for John's inspection. "Okay, all green," John said. "Now, your suits are the functional equivalent of a small spaceship, keeping you in a pressurized environment. If it fails, you should hear an emergency alarm. Your helmet will retain a few minutes of breathable oxygen while you get your ass inside the ship as fast as you can. Got that? Good." He pulled open a pouch on the waist of his suit. "If you spring a leak, there's a patch kit in this pouch. It has a set of patches with adhesive backs. Just pull off the backing and slap it on the leak. Then get your ass back into the ship as fast as you can. Are you hearing a theme here?" John said with a grin. "Anything goes wrong with your suit, get back into the ship, don't argue and don't play hero."

"What if we're rescuing somebody," asked Scott.

"You're no good to him if you're dead," Alan broke in. "If you were exposed to anything close to hard vacuum, you'd have about 14 seconds before you lost consciousness and in a minute or two you'd be dead. If the leak was slower, you'd suffer from hypoxia first and have a bit more time, but your judgment would go first before you lost consciousness. Still not a good thing. Patch a leaky suit and get the hell back to safety," Alan said vehemently, then stopped, seeing the shocked look on his brothers' faces. "Look," he said. "Just because I act like an airhead doesn't mean I am one. What we're doing out here is dangerous and I, for one, don't want to have to explain to Father how I lost one of you."

"Understood," Scott said softly.

"Well," John said into the silence. "Let's try using the jets to maneuver around inside. We're planning to space-walk tomorrow in vacuum, so I want you guys to get some practice first."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Working with the jets went amazingly well, Alan thought. Even Virgil was able to maneuver around the interior of the shuttle. Although everybody had their share of bumps and bruises from hitting the walls at speed, they hadn't had to break out the first aid kit. He allowed himself to hope that the worst was over.

At dinner, Alan was pleased to see that Virgil ate heartily. Alan finished his own lasagna quickly and found three sets of eyes studying him closely. "What?" Alan demanded. "Do I look funny or something?"

"Well, aside from that, one word," Gordon said. "Brownies."

"Cough them up," Virgil added. "And I have to admit, you do look funny in free fall, doesn't he?" he said conversationally, turning to Scott.

"Yeah," said Scott. "Your hair sort of fuzzes out into a blonde afro, actually, if you really want to know. But that's beside the point. Get out the brownies. And the pie, too."

John gave Alan a long look. "Al, have you been holding out on me?"

"And what will you do to me if I don't?" Alan asked challengingly. "I move better in free-fall than any of you."

"Ah," said Gordon. "But you have to sleep some time. And free fall leaves so many possibilities," he said, eyes gleaming. "Besides, your hair really does look funny. You should be grateful that you have loving brothers who will tell you the terrible truth."

"Oh, all right," Alan said, trying to smooth down his hair. Afro? His hair curled naturally. They were just jealous or something. He floated over to his duffle bag and pulled out two plastic boxes. "Here you go, you vultures."

To Alan's dismay, the pie got scarfed first. There weren't even crumbs left.

Seeing the pout on Alan's face, John was unsympathetic. "What do you expect? You're the bratty little brother!" was his response. "Did you think you could buy respect and a sense of power with brownies? With this bunch?"

Alan had to admit that maybe John was right but still had managed to palm a couple of brownies for himself before he gave the rest of the box to the horde of locusts...um...his brothers. And he did NOT look funny in free fall.

To everyone's quiet relief, Virgil didn't seem to have a recurrence of his space-sickness and each brother maneuvered himself safely into his sleep-sack and strapped himself in. Alan was especially pleased because, since this was the second night, it was John's turn to take first watch. He sleepily watched John do a last check of the tell-tales in the main cabin before closing the door to the cockpit, then settled himself comfortably in for the night.

* * *

><p>Alan awoke, hearing a loud BANG and the hissing noise that makes every astronaut terrified. Before he was entirely awake, Alan was out of the sleep-sack, grabbing a flashlight and trying to insert himself into his space suit as fast as possible, then planned to follow the current of air as it whistled out of the room.<p>

The cockpit door flew open and John hurried in with his flashlight, his hair whipping around in the breeze as he dove toward the suit locker. "Get into your suits!" he shouted to his brothers. "It's a micro-meteor strike that's holed us. We have to find the leak and patch it!"

Alan was in his suit first, with John close behind. While the rest of their brothers were struggling into the suits, Alan followed John to the source of the violent wind and found John uncovering a small box-shaped device, then flipping a switch. Immediately the wind stopped.

"Have you got it patched, John?" Scott, fully suited, propelled himself over to John.

John grinned and pulled his helmet off, then unstuck the box from the wall and handed it to Scott. " One minute, twenty five seconds, Scott. You guys have to do better."

Scott eyed the device in his hand and pulled his helmet off, letting it float away while Gordon and Virgil, also suited up, floated over. "Why, you sneaky bastard! Did Brains make this for you?" said Scott, admiration fighting with irritation in his voice. "You were just waiting to pull this on us!" he handed the box back to Virgil and an awed Gordon.

"That was a good one!" Gordon said in a voice tinged with hero-worship. "You really had us going."

"That was the intent," John replied. "Even Alan didn't know I was planning this, but you have to be prepared for emergencies out here. Got you into your suits, the fastest time yet." He paused and gave them a serious look. "But not fast enough. You need more practice."

"Yeah, but can we sleep first?" asked Virgil pleadingly. "And..uh..can I have another shot? I think I might need a barf bag."

Alan and Scott exchanged glances while John dug out the Thoramin and an air-sickness bag for Virgil. Twenty minutes, a shot and one air-sickness bag later, Virgil perked up again in time for them to go back to bed. Alan stayed up for his turn on watch, but pulled John aside. He nodded his head toward Virgil, settling in his sleep-sack again. "Well?"

John looked thoughtful. "Let's see how he does on EVA. Straight space-sickness we can treat with drugs. I'm not ready to ship him home yet."

Alan nodded, but he had the feeling that Virgil's troubles weren't over. He'd known a few people who, although otherwise qualified and willing, were just unable to adjust to space. He was beginning to wonder if his brother was one of them.

DAY 3

Virgil looked queasy again at breakfast and John silently gave him the anti-nausea shot. Breakfast was quick and tense. Although they had all trained underwater in space suits, only Alan and John had actually experienced hard vacuum. They were only too aware of the dangers; underwater, you could just swim away from danger. This was real. Finally, the moment came.

"Okay, everybody, suit up. When we EVA, I'll take Virgil and Gordon. Alan, you go with Scott," John and Alan moved over to the suit locker and began to hand out suits. "One other thing you should notice is that each suit has different markings so you can tell who you're with. For the moment, we've got markings to match our sash colors. Alan, yours isn't marked because the suit is white anyway. Scott, you have blue. Virgil has yellow, I've got lilac and Gordon has orange, or he will once I finish putting tape on his new suit…Okay, got it," John said after he'd applied emergency orange tape onto Gordon's suit.

Before lining up in the airlock, Alan and John carefully checked each suit for leaks, then gave each brother a thumbs up.

"You don't think he's still mad about the brownies, do you?" Gordon muttered to Virgil after Alan checked his suit.

Virgil cracked a smile. "You'll find out soon."

They lined up in the airlock in the order John designated. Alan and Scott went first.

Alan stepped forward first, latching his and Scott's safety tethers to the rings set into the shuttle's skin. "Are you ready?" he radioed his brother.

"I'm ready," said Scott.

"Okay, let's try some real free fall," Alan said and pushed off from the airlock door into space. Scott quickly followed and was soon floating at the end of his tether.

"All right, John, the rest of the mob can come out now," Alan said.

Next in the doorway was John, carefully latching his safety tether as well as Gordon and Virgil's. "Okay, Gordon, you go first. Push yourself out there. Then Virgil, you follow. I'll be right behind you."

Gordon went sailing gracefully out of the airlock, the sound of his whooping ringing through their communicators. "Wow! This is great!"

John cringed a bit. "Gordon, keep the volume down, wouldja? These things don't have much of a volume control."

Gordon waved a hand. "Sorry!"

"Okay, Virgil, now your turn," John said to Virgil, patting him on the shoulder. Virgil hesitated a moment, then pushed off into space, floating until he jerked to the end of his tether and floated there.

"Okay, let's take a roll call here," John called out. "Alan?"

"Yo!" Alan raised a hand.

"Scott, how are you doing amid all this glorious majesty?"

"Very impressed. It's beautiful out here," Scott replied.

"Gordon, how about you, ya philistine?"

"Ah..I've seen better on a coral reef!" Gordon shot back.

"Says the land-shark...Okay, how 'bout you, Virg?" John called out.

They heard nothing.

"Virgil? Are you receiving me?" John asked as Alan activated his jets and began to move toward Virgil.

Still no answer. Alan drew up to Virgil and peered into his helmet, then lifted a hand and made a circular motion. John bent and gathered Virgil's safety line and began to haul him in. Alan rode back with Virgil to the doorway.

In the meantime, Scott was working his suit jets with less luck, trying to get over to the doorway. "Dammit...stupid jets...John! What's wrong with him? Is it the suit?"

Both Alan and John seemed to be conferring among themselves. Finally, John nodded and Alan unhooked his own safety tether and Virgil's, then took Virgil back inside the shuttle and shut the door behind him. John, still tethered, remained in the doorway.

"Pull yourselves in," John said tiredly over the communicator. "We're going back inside for a moment. Alan's taking Virgil home and we need to be inside when the rocket takes off."

They all piled into the airlock as quickly as possible. Virgil was huddled over by the wall with Alan giving him another shot of Thoramin. Scott glanced up at John. "What happened?"

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He threw up in his space suit, even though he was on a full dose of Thoramin. This stuff is the strongest med on the market for space sickness. He needs to go home. Unless Brains can come up with something better, I'd say Virgil is grounded."

Scott nodded slowly. "I can see that. Sorry, Virg, but it looks like you're just not made for outer space."

"Not done yet!" Virgil answered angrily. "Damned stomach keeps letting me down. When I get home, I'll talk to Brains about it and I'll be back." He floated there with arms wrapped tightly around his chest and glared at his brothers.

"That'll be up to Dad," said Scott firmly. "In any case, let's pack your duffle and get you home."

"I'll pilot the rocket," said Alan. "I wish we had Thunderbird Three up and running, then we could travel in comfort."

"Well, the rent-a-rocket will have to do for now," said Scott with a half-smile. "Come on, Virg, let's go strap you in."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The brothers were silent while the rocket undocked from the shuttle with a loud bump. John, cussing, went out to check the docking collar and found it in pieces. "Damn piece of crap rental," he said, bringing broken pieces of plastic and metal inside the shuttle. "I'm glad Dad is building us our own equipment. It'll be better quality than any of this stuff," John looked down at the pieces in his hand, then met Gordon's and Scott's eyes. "Sorry guys, it's just that having to send Virgil home really gets me down. And now this! We'll have to make repairs or Alan won't be able to dock when he comes back."

"I'll get the toolkit," said Scott, moving over to the supply cabinet. "And don't count Virgil out yet. He's got a strong will; he'll be back if he can."

"Trouble is, he's got a strong will but a weak stomach," said Gordon gloomily, refastening his helmet.

"Well, no more chili for dinner," said Scott, rummaging inside the cabinet. "Is this the one, John? Kit A-3?"

"Yeah, that's the one," said John, fastening his helmet down. "Okay, you guys get to train some more in free fall and get to learn construction as well. Yippee." He motioned for his brothers to follow him to the airlock.

They spent the next six hours outside, trying to piece together the various bits of the docking collar. Finally, John called a halt. "I think we've got some pieces missing. Either we're going to have to rebuild this damned thing or just have Alan dock the space ship nearby and carry cargo from the ship to the shuttle. It's a good thing we can fly this damned thing into the atmosphere and land it. I'd hate to have to depend on that collar for anything."

Scott knew that the only thing keeping John from kicking the rental shuttle was the fact that he'd inevitably bounce back from the damned thing and be propelled away from it. "Come on, Johnny," he said. "It's been one hell of a day. Let's call it quits. We can call Alan and warn him about the collar. Who knows, maybe Dad can send a replacement."

"Okay," John said, sounding defeated. "You better reel Gordon in."

Scott turned his head and found Gordon turning easy cartwheels at the end of his tether. "You know, John, Gordy's having way too much fun up here." He began to slowly reel in his brother's safety tether and pulled him back to the airlock, like a puppy on a leash. Once inside, Scott handed the unhooked safety tether to John. "You want him?"

"Hey, I'm not a helium balloon, here!" Gordon said, pulling his helmet off and letting it float away.

"Could have fooled me," John said dryly, attaching the line to a hook on the wall inside the cabin. "You're enjoying weightlessness so much? Get yourself out of your suit."

"Hey, I can do this!" Gordon said, working on the fasteners but realized that he was floating freely without leverage. "Okay, I can do this. I can totally do this." He pulled off a glove and, using an overhead handhold, propelled himself to a towel-bar and tucked his feet under it. "So there!" He shrugged off the space suit and pumped his arms in triumph, then promptly found himself spinning into the opposite wall while his brothers hooted.

* * *

><p>TRACY ISLAND<p>

Virgil's nausea faded as soon as he felt gravity again. Alan put the rent-a-rocket down on the tarmac of the family airfield on Tracy Island. Both brothers found themselves a bit shaky walking in gravity again, ultimately supporting each other on the walk back to the house. Virgil privately thought they looked like a pair of drunks after a long binge.

As they approached the house, Virgil could smell the delicious scent of one of Kyrano's dinners. "Man, I feel like I could eat an elephant," he said to Alan.

"You pretty much can, Virg," Alan replied. "You've lost most of the calories you've taken in over the past three days." He patted Virgil on the back. "Why don't you go get something to eat, while I check in with Father."

Virgil didn't need to be asked twice. Alan checked his father's office but didn't find him there. Ultimately, Jeff Tracy was in the silos deep below the surface of Tracy Island. Alan drew up next to his father and Brains while they watched Thunderbird Three going through a painting cycle on the automated assembly-line.

"Wow!" Alan said admiringly. "Is she done?"

"Almost, this is the last coat. She's ready for testing next," Jeff Tracy said with pride. "I bet you didn't think we could finish her this fast."

"She's beautiful," Alan said. "Does she have all the internal fittings too? Seats, bunks, everything?"

"The uh..primary details have been taken care of. There are some i..internal details to be finished but she's essentially complete," said Brains.

"So, how are things going in orbit?" Jeff turned away from Thunderbird three as though he'd just realized Alan was back early. "Out of supplies already?"

"Not exactly," Alan admitted. "Virgil has been having problems with space sickness from the moment he experienced free fall. The Thoramin wasn't working at all. When he finally threw up into his suit, John and I decided to bring him home."

"That bad, huh? I'm sorry to hear it," Jeff said with disappointment. "Where is he, anyway?"

Alan grinned. "Oh, he's feeling better. He's in the kitchen, getting Kyrano to feed him."

"Well, it isn't as though we don't have plenty of work for him here," Jeff said. "Let's go upstairs and you can tell me all about your adventures. How are Gordon and Scott doing?"

Alan laughed. "Gordon's a natural. If anything, he's having too much fun in free fall. Scott is slower, but I think he'll do okay. I think I'm down here just for the day. I'll get some more food and bring it back for everybody. By the way, has Kyrano baked any more pies lately?"

"Well, I hope you'll stay to dinner. It's been awfully quiet without you boys around. Can I persuade you to leave tomorrow instead?" Jeff stepped out of the elevator and led Alan into the lounge.

"I don't mind staying and having a decent meal," Alan said. "John's got everything under control upstairs. Sure. I can go back tomorrow then."

That night at dinner, there was considerable discussion of Virgil's little problem.

"I'm sorry, son, but I don't have any better suggestions," Jeff said with regret. "I never had a problem with space sickness and Thoramin worked just fine for everyone I knew who did."

Virgil spooned more mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Yeah, but it just isn't cutting it for me. And it sounds like I can't adjust naturally. Maybe Brains can come up with something?" he glanced hopefully over to the scientist sitting next to him.

"Well, uh..I'll see what I can do, Virgil," Brains said doubtfully, helping himself to green beans.

"Might I make a suggestion," Kyrano said gently, putting down a pitcher of iced tea.

"Absolutely!" said Virgil. "Anything you can suggest is very welcome."

Kyrano smiled. "When I was very young, I suffered from sea-sickness. I found that eating candied ginger helped a great deal. In fact, it was much better than any medicine I could buy. I do have some, if you would like to try it."

Virgil's eyes lit up. "I sure would, Kyrano, thanks! Um, Alan.." he turned to his little brother on the other side. "Would you be willing to.."

"What? Take you up in a jet and try to make you air-sick?" Alan grinned. "Oh, Virgil, if you only knew how much I'd enjoy that!" He paused, thinking. "Be sure to bring lots of barf bags, though, I don't want to have to hose down the upholstery."

"Let's try it tomorrow, then," Virgil said, taking another bite. Kyrano left and soon reappeared with a small packet.

"Here is the ginger. Take a few pieces before you expect to be in a situation where you might be ill. It should prevent the sickness," he said and handed it to Virgil.

"Thanks, Kyrano, I'll give it a try," said Virgil with a hopeful grin. 

* * *

><p>After a brief and quiet dinner, the three brothers remaining on the shuttle went to bed. The nearly exhausted oxygen tanks on the suits were connected to a valve to recharge them for the next day.<p>

"So, what's next for tomorrow, John," Scott asked sleepily from his sleep-sack.

"More of the same," John said from the door of the cockpit. "I'll be glad when Alan gets back so he and I can split duty."

"I'll do it," Scott said. "Just wake me up in four hours. Easier than trying to wake Virgil if he were here…"

There was a snort from Gordon's corner. "He's probably filled up on steak, pie and anything else he could get his hands on. And I bet he didn't have to use a plastic spoon like we do."

"Well, he's earned it," said John. "Anyway, I'll see you later, Scott. G'night, you two."

John heard the mumbled replies and closed the door. He really was disappointed that Virgil'd had to be shipped home and he knew how upset Virgil was about it. He shrugged and opened an astronomy e-book he'd brought along and began to read.

As the hours went on, John felt like the room was getting stuffy. That wasn't too unusual when you live in a box floating in space where most everything is recycled. He felt sleepier and sleepier until he was jerked awake by a loud hooting noise. The oxygen alarm? His eyes blurred as he read the indicator. There was virtually no oxygen in the cabin…

He pushed open the cockpit door. The main cabin wasn't much better. There must be a slow leak somewhere. The alarm was still blaring but neither Gordon or Scott had moved. "Hey!" he shouted. "Suit up! We've got an oxygen leak!" Then he dove for the suit locker and shrugged on his space suit as fast as he could.

"Sure we do," Scott muttered. "Nice try, John."

John, now suited up, grabbed Scott's suit and propelled himself over to his brother and forcibly pulled him out of the sleep sack. "Here! Get dressed, you freakin' idiot! This isn't a drill! Suit up!" John shoved the suit at Scott, then took off back to the suit cupboard.

Gordon was slowly pulling himself out of his sleep sack when John thrust a suit at him. "There's no oxygen in the shuttle. Put the damned suit on! NOW!"

With the fresh air from the suit, Scott had perked up. "What's going on? Did we really get hit by something this time?"

"I don't know," John said. "There's no whistling sound and no current in the main cabin. There may be a blockage in the oxygen lines. Gordon, you okay?"

"John," Gordon said. "Check your suit monitors. Mine say that I have about an hour's worth of air in my tanks. Shouldn't they be recharged by now?"

"Crap," John said as he and Scott each checked their levels. "I've got about an hour as well. Scott?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "We'd better check those lines."

The interior lines were unblocked, but weren't pushing out air either. John decided that the problem must be outside. After looking in the maintenance manual, he determined that they needed to check the exterior access. It was located next to the docking collar.

This time there was no fuss about going EVA. Gordon stayed at the airlock doorway to watch over the safety lines while John and Scott checked the external valves. Neither was pleased at what they found.

"I don't understand," Scott said, looking at the two cracked plastic valves. "I thought space craft always used metal, not plastic for mission critical parts."

John tugged at one valve and it crumbled in his gloved hand. "They don't. These are non-standard parts. The company Dad got this shuttle from has probably been cooking their maintenance logs. Plastic isn't used because the extremes of heat and cold in space would destroy them too quickly." He reached into the tool-kit and removed a tube of putty. He squeezed a generous amount into the hole left behind by the broken valve, then broke off the second valve and plugged it too.

"So, where's the backup tank?" Scott asked.

"It should be over here.." John led him around the side of the shuttle. "And…it's the same type of valve, long gone…" Where the valve should have been, there was a gaping hole.

"Let me get this straight," Scott said. "We have no air, except for what's in the suits?"

"Oh yeah. And it's even better, Scott," John said quietly. "That second valve back there? That was the fuel tank. We don't have enough fuel to make reentry. We're stuck up here until the air runs out."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

After dinner, Jeff, Virgil and Alan relaxed in the lounge. "So, how is it going with the other thunderbirds?" Virgil asked.

"The modular parts for Two and One are proceeding. We should get those shipments in about three months. Thunderbird Four, or the 'toy submarine' as you keep calling it, is almost complete except for the additional modifications we'll make here," Jeff took a sip of his coffee and his face took on a look reminiscent of a cat with a canary. "I must admit, I'm proudest of the way that Thunderbird Five is progressing."

Alan snickered and Virgil grinned. "So, the construction workers still think they're building the Terra Vista Space Hotel?" Alan asked, sipping his can of soda.

"Oh yes," Jeff replied. "and Agents 12 and 20, our General Contractors, are making sure that they keep believing that. Of course, the sub-contractors will be disappointed when Terra Vista Ventures goes out of business and the hotel never opens, coincidentally just as they finish all the non-International Rescue elements of the station," Jeff grinned. "Still, Terra Vista stupidly paid both the General and Subs in advance, so they'll get a full profit even when Terra Vista goes belly up."

"So, are we still going to be helping to construct Five?" Alan asked.

"Don't worry, Alan, they're far from done with this project. You five will be apprentices working on 'special projects' under Agent 20," Jeff picked up his coffee mug. "She's going to look beautiful when she's done."

Virgil and Alan were in their rooms sleeping when the call came in. They each woke up to the sound of a loud buzzer which they knew had been installed to designate a rescue in the offing.

Alan jumped out of bed, at first thinking he was back in orbit and there'd been an air leak. But when the buzzer didn't stop, he grabbed his bathrobe and threw it on. As he passed Virgil's door, he pounded on it. "C'mon, Virg! There's some kind of emergency!"

The door opened and Virgil, looking more than half asleep, followed Alan to the lounge, to find their father and Brains already there, talking to the image of John in a space suit on the portrait wall.

"Wow, they really do work," Virgil said. "This is the first time I've ever seen one lit up." Then he focused on what John was saying.

"Yes, Father, the shuttle's oxygen valve has broken off and we've lost all cabin pressure. We're out of air and almost out of fuel. We can't land her this way, not enough fuel left. We need Alan to pick us up."

Both Virgil and Alan exchanged glances, shocked. "How much air do you have left?" Jeff demanded.

"About forty-five minutes in our suits," John said. "All the backups are empty."

"John," Alan said slowly, his eyes wide. "The rent-a-rocket takes at least two hours to get to the shuttle. There's only one space craft I can think of that would be fast enough to make a difference…"

"Thunderbird Three," Jeff said. "She's not finished yet, but she's ready for testing. It's a good thing we haven't put the International Rescue markings on her yet." Jeff turned to Alan. "There's no time to waste, take Brains with you and get going. Your uniforms and space suits are aboard. I'll send you coordinates and a flight plan when you're airborne."

Virgil just stood, uncertainly. "Oh, and Virgil," Jeff said. "Don't forget to bring your ginger with you." He tossed the packet to Virgil. "FAB, Dad," said Virgil with a big grin, running for the couch where Brains was already seated. Jeff smiled and crossed his fingers as he hit the activating button.

The floor slid aside and the couch jerked at first, then smoothly dropped down below floor level and into the silos.

Alan smelled the paint as they drew nearer to his baby. Then a thought occurred to him. "Brains, is she fuelled up and does she have oxygen?"

"Y..yes, she's fully fuelled and supplied, " Brains said. "A..after I saw that gleam in your eye this afternoon, I decided to get her ready to go in case you wanted to try h..her out. All she needs now is her Thunderbird Three labeling and some flight testing."

"Oh boy," Alan said. And then the couch had stopped at the underside of Three's rockets and had begun to lift them all into the rocket's interior.

When the couch stopped in Three's lounge, Virgil looked around and said "Wow. This really beats a rent-a-rocket." Alan had already taken the elevator to the command module. Virgil and Brains heard the engines fire up, so they took seats and belted themselves in.

Virgil could see the sky darkening as they drew nearer Earth's orbit. He dug out the packet of ginger and chewed a few pieces. Didn't taste bad, either, like some of Kyrano's herbal remedies. Brains was busily working with his handheld computer, probably taking notes on how Three was performing. Virgil decided to take the elevator to the control area, he was dying for a look.

Alan was seated at the command station, in full International Rescue uniform. He looked up as Virgil approached. "You'd better strap yourself in. We'll be weightless soon." Alan paused and added. "Did you take that ginger stuff? Please don't baptize my new carpeting, Virg."

Virgil looked hurt. "I wouldn't do it on purpose, Alan. Yes, I did take some and I'm fine so far. And I brought barf bags, so it'll be all right."

Alan grinned. "Sorry, Virgil. It's just that new-car thing. She's so new and shiny, I'm afraid I'll dent her or scratch the paint."

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, I know. You were the same way when you got your Trans Am at 16. And then the Jag. And then the…"

"Oh, stop it," Alan said.

* * *

><p>After his little brothers left, Scott got serious.<p>

"Can Thunderbird Three make it in time?" Scott asked their father.

Jeff's worry showed through his mask of confidence. "We built her for speed, son. She's better than anything NASA or anyone else has. She'll get there. So, I've had a chance to talk to you and John, where's Gordon?"

"FAB, Dad," said Scott. "Hey Gordon, you want to say hello to Dad before I sign off?"

Gordon floated over to the transmitter. He knew what Scott was getting at. Do you want to say a last goodbye to Dad? He and Scott exchanged looks before Gordon swung into visual range. "Hi Dad! Hey, this free-fall thing is great. I'm having a great time."

"Hey, son. Don't tell me I'm going to persuade you to give up the oceans for deep space?" Jeff's face grew craggier looking at his younger son.

"Never," Gordon said cheerfully. "I'd still rather swim the tropics. Looking forward to going spear fishing with you once all this is over, Dad."

"I am too, son," said Jeff. "Your brothers will be there soon and will get you out of there. Now, I'd better not keep you talking. You're wasting air. Try to sleep if you can." Jeff raised a hand, as though to touch the screen. "Thunderbird Three will be there soon."

John, Scott and Gordon were clustered together in the screen. "Okay, Dad," John said with a faint smile. "We'll be glad to see them. Signing off, now."

After the screen cleared, the indomitable Jeff Tracy sat down suddenly on the chair and put his hands over his face.

* * *

><p>"Well, what do you think our chances are?" Scott asked John as he turned away from the radio.<p>

"Do you want to know what I think or what I hope?" John asked, his expression clouded.

"That bad, huh?" Scott replied. "Well, we've done all we can. Nothing to do but wait. What's the time?"

Gordon looked at his wrist. "Thirty-five minutes." They all looked at each other silently.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to look at the stars. The view up here is incredible and I can't think of anything better to spend my last half hour doing," said John.

"I can," said Gordon and Scott simultaneously, then they both laughed.

"Well, okay, that," said John with a grin. "But since there aren't any girls up here, we're kind of stuck."

"Should have told Alan to bring some," muttered Gordon.

"Say, did Dad say that Virgil is coming up?" said Scott. "Maybe they found something for his stomach."

"That's great. I wonder what it was?" asked John. "We'll have to ask him when we see him."

There didn't seem to be much else to say. "I'll go with you, Johnny," Scott said. "I think I'd like to see the stars too."

"Wait for me," said Gordon.

They didn't go very far on their tethers, preferring to stay close together in the doorway of the airlock.

"Never thought it would end this way," said Scott. "I always figured I'd crash a test-plane." He stared out at the stars. "Or get shot down somewhere over Bereznia."

"Hey, I don't know about you but I was hoping for dead in my bed with great-grandchildren surrounding me, waiting for my millions," said Gordon thoughtfully. "Either that or somewhere in the ocean. I don't mind eternity as fish-food."

"You wouldn't," John snorted. "I dunno about me. Probably found dead at my telescope, having just discovered a new galaxy. Either that or over the chessboard, having just beaten Alan at chess. Again."

They all smiled at that. "Wow, little Alan with his very own red rocket," Scott murmured. "Don't tell him I said that," he said with a grin, then he paused. "Do you think Dad will continue with International Rescue when we're gone?"

"He still hasn't recovered from Mom's death, not really," John said. "This will kill him."

"Then we have to make sure we don't die," Scott said, gathering his safety tether. "I'm going to try to sleep and save oxygen."

"I'll join you," said John.

"Hey, you guys are going in?" said Gordon in a slow tumble. "Oh, okay…."

"Anybody mind if I just bunk out here and not in the sleep sack?" Scott asked.

"No problem," said John. "I'll do the same. Less constricted."

"I'm gonna play little brother here," said Gordon. "Do you mind if I tether to you? I…uh…don't want to get too far away just now."

"Sure, Bro," Scott said gently. "Just like thunderstorms in Kansas, huh?"

"Yeah, those were really something," Gordon said, attaching his suit to Scott's. "Johnny, you want to join the party?"

"Sure," said John. "If we're in a bunch they'll…" The rest of his sentence 'find us more easily' was lost in the silence.

"Well, good night then," said Gordon. "And thanks."

"For what?" Scott asked.

"For being good big brothers. And for not killing me when I played tricks on you," Gordon replied.

"Some of them were pretty good," John admitted. "That purple dye in my conditioner was epic. You figured out that I was checking my shampoo. I glowed for a week."

He heard quiet snickers from the others.

A few minutes went by. It started to feel stuffy. Scott checked his gauge. Two minutes. They weren't going to make it.

* * *

><p>"How long?" Virgil asked. He was strapped down in the co-pilot's seat next to Alan with no sign of nausea.<p>

"Two minutes," said Alan tensely. "And don't ask me if we can go any faster. We have to arrive where they will be," he looked up. "You'd better get the emergency supplies together."

"I..I've taken care of that," said Brains, in a space suit, from the doorway. "I'd suggest you put on your space suits so that we can go immediately."

"Good idea," Virgil said. "This rescue stuff is new to me." He floated to the locker and pulled out a suit. "Hey Alan, I see one labeled 'Alan' and..hey, green striping for me? Green?"

Alan pushed a button and went to the locker, grabbing the plain white suit. "Yep, green is your color, Virg," and began to put the suit on.

As soon as Alan put the suit on he heard a buzzer. "We're on approach," he said and slid into the seat. He turned on the overhead view screen, which showed the shuttle. "Wait a minute? Where's the docking collar?"

* * *

><p>Scott heard his brothers panting for breath. This was it. He reached out his left hand and grabbed Gordon's. Gordon said nothing but hung on. John's hand slipped into his right and squeezed. Scott closed his eyes, both sorry and glad he wasn't going alone.<p>

"Stu..pid…way…to die," he exhaled into the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Alan looked with dismay at the ruined docking collar on the shuttle. "Why the f*** didn't Dad or John say anything about this?" he demanded, then took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Brains, did you install the magnetic grapple?"

"Ah..yes, I did," said Brains, pointing to the control board. "I..it's the green button. You have one hundred yards of line."

"All right," said Alan, sweat beginning to bead his brow. "I'll just do some micro-bursts…slowly…and we're in range." He hit the button with his palm, watching anxiously to make sure he'd hit the shuttle, then began to reel the two ships together. Then he moved over to a fire extinguisher on the wall, pulled it off and gave it to Virgil. "We're still pretty far out, too much for the jets on your suit. Hook your suit to the line and use the extinguisher for propulsion. Brains, you do the same. Each of you clip on one pressurized stretcher and pull it behind you. We'll evacuate them the same way. Wait until the first person gets to the ship and off the line before you start out." He fastened his helmet and watched the others fasten theirs and check the green lights on their sleeves.

"What about you?" asked Virgil, clutching the fire extinguisher.

Alan pulled another extinguisher from under the command desk. "I'm going first," he said.

Alan opened the airlock and clipped his safety tether to grapple line, then tucked the fire extinguisher under his right armpit with nozzle pointed behind him and turned it on. He and John had often argued about whether this stunt was possible; now he had a chance to prove it. He held onto the safety tether with the left hand and turned the extinguisher on.

The first seconds were a wild rabbit run, only the line keeping him pointed toward the shuttle. He discovered that he had more control if he gave the extinguisher short bursts. "Try…using…short bursts," he panted over the radio.

"Oh yeah," he heard Virgil's wry tone. "I wish I were filming this; Dad and the others would love to see this."

"Ah..there is an external camera on Thunderbird Three," Brains said quietly.

"I'll remember that," Virgil said and looked out to see Alan waving before he climbed into the shuttle airlock. Virgil turned to make sure that the pressurized stretcher was clipped to his belt. It looked too much like a coffin for his peace of mind. "My turn," he said and grabbed his fire extinguisher. Praying to the nausea gods, Virgil hit the switch.

It wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be. He started out with short bursts and was able to control his speed somewhat, until he hit the wall of the shuttle with a resounding THWAP. He managed not to lose the fire extinguisher and climbed into the airlock and found Alan already loading Gordon into a stretcher. He had pulled Gordon's helmet off, put an air mask over his face, closed the lid and hit the switch. The lights immediately lit up, the telltales showing both pulse and breathing. Okay, now he knew what to do.

While he was loading Scott into his stretcher, Virgil noticed that Brains had arrived and they were both working on John. Okay Scott, he muttered to himself, helmet off, mask on, close lid and hit the switch.

"I've got John and Gordon ready to go," said Alan. "You take Scott back and put him in the lounge. Don't disconnect anything, the stretcher will take care of him for now. We'll be right behind you."

"FAB," Virgil said. The stretcher was still linked to his belt, so he towed it back to the airlock and out the door. There he reattached his tether, gripped his fire extinguisher and hoped his aim would be better this time.

To his delight, it was. He pulled the stretcher into the airlock and cycled it, soon pulling it into the lounge area, attaching the head end to the wall. "Alan, do you need any more help?" he radioed before he took the helmet off.

"No, we're fine. We'll be inside in a minute or two. Go ahead and take your suit off," Alan responded.

Virgil immediately shucked his suit and helmet, replacing them in the cupboard, then floated back to the lounge. Alan and Brains were just bringing in Gordon and John, lining up their stretchers parallel to Scott's.

"Why doesn't Thunderbird Three have a sickbay?" Virgil demanded. "I'm not a doctor, but these stretchers can't replace a medical center."

"The plan is to uh..use the medical facilities on Thunderbird Five when needed," Brains said tensely, checking the readouts. "A..and I must agree with you, the stretchers aren't a substitute. Thunderbird Five's bay isn't up yet, so we need to get back to Tracy Island."

Alan had already disappeared into the cockpit. Soon, Virgil heard the jets firing up, taking them away from the shuttle. There was nothing to do but strap himself in and watch over his three brothers.

* * *

><p>Scott woke to the pleasant feel of crisp sheets and the smell of tropical flowers. Hmmm…heaven? Then he caught the astringent tang of disinfectant. Something tickled the end of nose and he brushed it away. It came back and he brushed at it again, hearing a muffled sound that might have been a snicker. Sleepily, he batted at it and felt a thump as his hand connected, followed by an 'ow!"<p>

"The fact that you're harassing me means that we must be alive, Gordon," Scott said, opening his eyes to find a grinning Gordon, in pajamas, sitting on his bed. "We're home!"

"Yeah, about time you woke up," said John from the other bed. He was propped up, reading a magazine.

"I take it Thunderbird Three really is as fast as Dad planned?" Scott said, pushing Gordon off the bed. "How long are we stuck here?"

"Brains wants to check our blood gases one more time," Gordon said, picking himself off the floor. "Best of all, they fed us. Real food, too. You missed the pie."

"Pie?" Scott's face took on a look of disappointment.

The door cycled open and Virgil poked his head in. "So, you're all awake now? Hey, Scott! How's it feel to be a guinea pig?"

"Guinea pig?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Virgil said. "Brains got to try his new emergency stretcher. It has everything from oxygen masks to telemetry. Just put the victim in, slap a mask on him and hit the 'go' button. No muss, no fuss. It must work okay since you all survived. And Brains has deputized me to take blood for your final set of labs." He brandished a blood-draw kit amid a chorus of groans. "I'll do John first."

"Oh, all right," John said patiently, putting his magazine down.

"So, Virg, what happens now?" Gordon asked while Virgil worked. "We can't go back to that piece of crap in space."

"Dad's got a plan for that. He figures we'll just go up and work on Thunderbird Five earlier than planned. We'll go live with the construction crew and work on what he calls special projects. Okay, your turn Gordy…" He turned to Gordon, who reluctantly rolled up his sleeve.

"So what's a special project?" asked Scott.

"We'll be installing Thunderbird Five's communications array. On the outside it looks like the standard but the internal workings are all Brains' genius. Okay, you're done. Now you, Scott," Virgil neatly labeled the vial of Gordon's blood and sat down next to Scott's bed.

"Let me get this straight. We've barely floated around in free fall a couple of days and Dad's sending us up to work with seasoned space-construction workers?" Scott asked incredulously.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Jeff Tracy said from the open doorway. "So, how are you all feeling? None the worse for your misadventure?"

"Yeah, we're all fine, Dad," Scott said. "That was too close for comfort, though."

Jeff's face took on a serious cast. "It was. And the first thing we're going to do when you're out of here is have a meeting to go over the entire event. Since it's our first, unofficial rescue, we'll treat it as though it were official and do a thorough debrief. But in the meantime, yes, I do plan to send you to Thunderbird Five. You'll be under the direct supervision of Agents 12 and 20; they'll teach you any construction techniques you need to know and help to refine your EVA skills. Hank has worked in space construction for at least fifteen years. He often takes on apprentices who show an interest in space construction. You'll just be his latest group."

"So, when do we go?" asked John.

Jeff considered. "Well, I'd like you all to take a few days off first. After what happened upstairs, I want to be sure you're fit and rested. Let's say we shoot for a week from now."

"Dad?" Virgil asked. "Will I be going? I didn't have any problems during the rescue."

"That could have been adrenalin," Jeff said.

"Or it could have been the ginger Kyrano gave me," Virgil insisted. "Look, if I have problems, I'll just come home. You know that John and Alan.."

"And Scott," added Gordon and John.

"And Scott," Virgil sighed, "will be watching me."

"Fair enough," Jeff said. "You'll go too."

"By the way, where's Alan?" Scott asked.

Virgil snorted. "Where do you think? He's in Thunderbird Three, chortling gleefully over his new bird. That's right, you three missed the actual tour, didn't you. When Brains releases you, we'll have to go take a look at her. She's pretty impressive."

John leaned back against his pillows. "Well, I'm pretty impressed. We're alive and I didn't expect us to get back."

"You got that right," Scott said. "I never want to cut it that close again."

* * *

><p>They were all released by Brains from the sick room and quickly dispersed throughout the island. Alan proudly offered a tour of Thunderbird Three, with Brains' assistance, which left each of his brothers hungrier for his own thunderbird.<p>

Two days later, when Jeff considered his sons sufficiently rested, he called a meeting in the island's conference room. Although it had been constructed as a dining room, the family preferred to dine in the kitchen, so the room did duty as a conference and planning room. Brushing aside the various blueprints and plans, Jeff cleared the table so that Kyrano could set down a carafe of coffee and various snacks.

Seated around the table were each of the Tracy sons, Brains and Jeff Tracy at the table's head.

"All right, boys," he said. "First I want to go over the causes for your predicament. I'll be having my investigators go over that shuttle to determine exactly how out of code it is and we'll be turning the report over to the authorities." He rubbed his face with his hands. "The thought that I might have lost three of you is an eye-opener. I realize now that we have to institute quality control in every product we use for International Rescue and continue to reevaluate procedures to maintain standards," Jeff finished.

"Wow, Dad," said Gordon. "You sounded just like a CEO just now."

Jeff smiled ironically. "I'm afraid it's worse than that, son. I'm a commander. No leveraged buy-outs." He leaned forward. "Now, let's discuss the situation that faced you." He turned to John and Alan.

"Did either of you do a manual inspection of either the oxygen tanks or the fuel tanks before you had problems?"

John and Alan looked at each other and gulped, then slowly shook their heads. "I guess we assumed that everything would be fine because the maintenance log checked out," Alan said.

"Scott, you've been a pilot the longest," Jeff said to his eldest. "What's the first thing a pilot does before he takes off?"

"He does a visual inspection of his air craft to make sure it's fit to fly," Scott said. "I'm sorry, Dad. I should have done the inspection."

Jeff nodded. "Or reminded your brothers, who were in command, to do it. Had the inspection been done, you might have discovered the valve problem before you ran out of oxygen and either aborted the mission or repaired the shuttle."

"About that docking collar, Dad," Alan broke in. "Nobody told Virgil or I that it was disabled. We found out when we got there that we couldn't dock. The extra time we lost could have killed them."

John, Gordon and Scott all exchanged glances. "I could have sworn we told Dad about it when we called," John said tentatively. "It was the first thing out of my mouth."

Jeff's face blanched, then he slowly nodded, "and before Alan and Virgil entered the room. Damn! That was my fault. I assumed that they'd heard you, so I didn't tell them. I should have gone over the necessary information, at the least while they were en route. I'll make it a practice to brief the lead Thunderbird while in flight, usually that'll be you, Scott in One. That way you can make maximum speed to the danger zone, but be fully informed. And sons, I could have gotten you killed by that slip. I am truly sorry."

"By the way, Alan," said Jeff. "The solution you came up with was ingenious. Those fire extinguishers got you over to the shuttle in record time. However did you come up with that?"

Alan blushed when John interrupted. "Disney. When Alan was little, we used to watch this ancient Disney cartoon about a little robot in space who used a fire extinguisher to propel him. I swear, that's why Alan was so hot to become an astronaut! Anyway, Al and I have long had a bet going about whether it would be possible to really use a fire extinguisher to propel you in space. I argued that it would slip out of your arms and get away from you. Well, Al," John pulled out his wallet and removed a thousand dollar bill and pushed it over the table his brother. "Okay, you win. It obviously worked because I'm sitting here today."

Alan took the bill, waved it in triumph, then tucked it into his wallet. "Thanks, John. I'll try to save your life more often."

"And that brings up another thing," Virgil said. "We need some kind of space-scooter that we can steer. The suit jets aren't powerful enough for distance when we can't dock close-in."

"Yeah, we heard about how you ran into the side of the shuttle," Scott commented with a grin as he sipped his coffee. "At the very least, to keep Virgil in one piece we need something steerable."

"Duly noted," Jeff marked his tablet computer. "Brains is coming up with some schematics we can look over before you leave for Five—or should I say, the Terra Vista Hotel." He looked over his sons. "And that's another consideration. You'll be working under false names. Agents 12 and 20 will know who you are, but nobody else will. We don't want anyone associating this project with either the name Tracy or International Rescue."

"Will we have to pretend not to know each other?" Gordon asked.

"Dad, I don't think that we're good enough actors for that," Scott said. "We're brothers and we act like that unconsciously. We might as well go in as brothers, but with a fake last name."

"We'll stick out like a sore thumb," Alan protested. "How many families have five sons to send on construction projects?"

Jeff was silent, thinking. "I don't want to split you up. You need to learn to work as a team for International Rescue, and this job will help you there. You'll be there to do confidential projects, but you aren't spies. No, you'll go in as brothers. We'll think of a good back-story."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Their trip to the Terra Vista Hotel construction site was delayed by a wonderful breakthrough: Brains got his artificial gravity system working at last.

"I..I've installed it in Thunderbird Three," Brains said that morning at breakfast. "With Alan ah..and John's help. Now we'll be testing it for to be sure it's stable under actual conditions. Mister Tracy, do you think that Scott, Virgil and Gordon could go on ahead to the hotel with the others to join them later?"

Jeff sipped his coffee and eyed the anxious expressions on John and Alan's faces, then smiled. "I don't see why not. Hank and Bob will be there to train the rest of the boys in free-fall. Scott, are you okay with this?"

Scott grinned back over his own breakfast. "We'll be fine, Father. Besides, I know how anxious they've been about having the artificial gravity up and running. I don't have any issue with it."

"All right then," Jeff said. "It's settled. They'll join you after the testing is complete. Who knows, we may be able to send a unit ready for installation in Thunderbird Five along with them." 

* * *

><p>TERRA VISTA SPACE HOTEL—CONSTRUCTION SITE <p>

The three Tracy sons, with the new last name of Thomas, watched the new Terra Vista Hotel draw near the shuttle windows.

"Wow! She's huge!" Virgil said. "She's on a par with the International Space Station."

"She's supposed to be designed to give a, what was it, 'grand hotel experience in space'," Gordon smiled and winked as the shuttle docked. They were met at the airlock by a tall, burly man with graying hair in a jumpsuit.

"You must be Gordon, Virgil and Scott," said the man. "I'm Hank Barrows, the General Contractor for this job. You come highly recommended," he said and winked.

Scott moved forward. "Hi, Hank, we were told we'd be under your supervision. I'm Scott. This is my brother Virgil, and my other brother Gordon," he said gesturing. "We've had a little free-fall training but I'm sure we need much more. I hope that's okay."

"We're used to ground-hogs up here. Don't worry, we'll bring you up to speed. But, I'd understood there were supposed to be two more of you, John and Alan?" Hank asked, eyebrows raised.

"They had some important things they had to do at home," Scott said smoothly. "They'll be joining us later."

"All right, then," Hank said. "Come on, let's go to the control deck, which we also use for the head office." He led them up a long passageway and through two airlocks to a large room filled with half-finished electronics. Glancing around, shut the airlock door behind them. "All right, we can speak freely here, boys. Jeff told me about your adventures in that rental shuttle. I just want you to know that I'm glad to have you here on the project."

"We're glad to be here, Hank," Scott replied for them. "Brains has a working model of his artificial gravity system and has installed it in Thunderbird Three. John and Alan are doing the testing before bringing a unit here for installation."

Hank grinned broadly. "I might have known. Well, that'll make it homier up here, for sure. I did wonder why we were bothering with directional up here; putting in a floor, for example, when you don't need one in free-fall. That explains a lot." He gestured toward the far corner of the room. "In any case, this is command central for the general contractors. If you have any questions, come here. My partner, Bill, will be supervising you for the most part. Now, you have your duffels? I'll give you a tour and show you your quarters." He led the way through an airlock at the end of the room and into a large room, empty of people. "This is in the plan as a deluxe suite, but I understand you're going to use it as a sickbay. The medical equipment still needs to be installed, another project for you. How are your electronics skills?"

"Well practiced," Gordon replied with a grin. "Who do you think wired Thunderbird Three? The parts may be modular but somebody has to hook 'em together."

"Good, that's largely what you'll be doing. Now you'll be working with two crews of workers," Hank said, leading them through another airlock.

"This looks awfully familiar," said Virgil. "Alternate control center?"

"Yep. If the primary control center gets holed or damaged, this one will be up and running. It has a separate power supply and operates independently." Hank opened a hatch on the wall, showing a Jeffries tube going down. "Let's go to the lower level."

"The crews are sleeping in the hotel 'bedrooms'," Hank said. "It's cramped but livable. There are six bedrooms down here and you make up the third crew." He led them down the hallway and stopped at the door at the end. "This one's yours. Standard sleep-sacks. No-frills, but then you're on a construction site."

The three Tracys floated into the room and looked around. "Nice view," said Virgil. His brothers followed to cluster around him.

"John will love it up here," Scott said. "Look at the stars!"

"I'd hate to have to clean the windows," Gordon commented.

"Oh, you'll be doing that too," Hank said. "A space station takes regular maintenance, including checking the exterior windows for pits and cracks. Don't want to lose air pressure."

Gordon and Scott exchanged glances; the memory was much too fresh to laugh about that possibility.

"So, tell us about these other crews," Virgil said, reaching for a piece of ginger and munching at it.

Hank noticed. "So, you're the one who gets space sick? Be sure to let me know if you have problems. I've got some older drugs that might work better than the Thoramin if you do have problems, although ginger's not a bad solution."

"Seems to be working so far," said Virgil, finishing his piece.

"Well, tell me if you have problems. You know the danger if you throw up in your suit? Okay, enough about that. You wanted to know about the crews. We have one group of Bereznikis, they're very quiet and do a good job. Send money back to their families back home, I understand. The other group are all Americans. They tend to be rowdy but they get the job done. Word of advice, stay on their good side. The leader of the bunch, Griff, holds grudges."

"We don't want any trouble, for obvious reasons," Scott said. "We'll keep a low profile."

"All right," said Hank. "Now, let me show you the lounge." He led them around the perimeter of the space station into the largest room they'd seen yet. Windows set into the exterior walls showed a view of a glowing earth shimmering in space. All three Tracys gravitated to the window and hovered there for several minutes.

"Wow," breathed Gordon. "That's incredible."

"I'd love to paint that," whispered Virgil. Scott didn't say anything, he just looked.

"Needless to say this is will be the main dining room and lounge for the hotel when it opens," Hank said. "For now, we're using this as the primary cafeteria and break room. As you can see, there are several workers from Griff's team having coffee." He gestured toward two men in coveralls sipping from covered thermal mugs.

Virgil laughed, "And we didn't even see them when we came in. Sorry about that, the view is…"

"Yeah," said one of them good-naturedly. "We get that a lot. Don't worry, you'll get to see the view just about every day. You'll get tired of it pretty fast." He took another sip. "So, Hank, another bunch of college kids?"

"Something like that," said Hank. "They want to learn about space construction and have some electronics skills. These are the Thompsons, Scott, Virgil and Gordon…They'll be working as a separate team since they still need some training."

"Welcome to the Terra Vista Hotel," said the worker, raising his mug in salute. "I'm Jim and this is Paul. We'll be seeing each other; it's a small station up here. How long's your rotation?"

"I'm not sure," said Scott. "A month at least, isn't that the maximum?"

"Pretty much," said Hank. "You don't want to lose your ability to live in gravity. Your muscles atrophy and your bones start to demineralize if you're up here too long." He turned back to the boys. "So anyway, you've got your schedule posted in your room. At mealtimes, just pick a frozen meal out of the freezer and put it into a microwave. Fresh fruit and drinks are in the 'fridge. No alcohol up here, company rules. And no smoking anything. Oxygen's at a premium. Coffee's available 24 by 7 in the urn over here and the person who takes the last cup makes a new pot. Clean up after yourself or you'll have the rest of the station after you. Clear?"

All three Tracys nodded. "Okay, you go back to your room and settle in. I'll be by in about an hour to orient you to your first work shift." Hanson nodded, then floated out of the lounge, leaving the Tracys behind.

"I guess we'd better go unpack," said Scott and turned to head for the door. "Nice meeting you, Jim…Paul…"

"Hey, Thompson," said Jim. "Now that Hank's out of the room, word of caution," he said looking over toward the door. "Be careful. There have been a lot of accidents lately. Two guys had to go home because of injuries last week and it wasn't because they were careless."

Scott stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"I mean that you picked a bad time to come here to learn the business," said Jim. "I thought we should clue you in because you're green. One of us might get injured, but one of you might just get dead."

"We'll remember that," said Scott. "Thanks for the warning. Anything in particular we should watch out for?"

"Those Bereznikis…they're quiet but they're…off…and it ain't because they're foreign," said Jim, shaking his head. "Just..keep an eye on them if they work with you. Double-check things. Do your own safety checks, don't rely on somebody else's."

Scott's frown grew deeper. "We will. Thanks again for the heads-up," he said and motioned his brothers to follow him. They used the handholds to float back down the hallway to their room and shut the door.

"Gordon, stay by the door and listen for anyone outside," Scott said. "Can't tell if this room is bugged…Okay…we'll try this," he pulled his mini-player out of his duffle and put some loud music on.

Gordon winced. "Come on, Scott. Death-metal?"

Scott grinned. "You know I always liked the classics. And nobody's gonna hear our conversation."

"So what do we do? Call Dad?" Gordon folded his arms and floated in place.

Scott looked worried and thoughtful. "No…" he said finally. "Not yet. We only have rumor to go by. It might just be rumor."

"From what Jim was saying, our own agent Hank might be a problem," said Virgil. "I don't think we should mention any of this to him."

"I don't like to distrust our own agent," agreed Scott. "But I think you're right. Let's find out more first. And don't trust anyone else's safety checks." He sighed, wishing that John or Alan were there. If this were a ground operation, he'd feel fine in command but he just didn't know enough about space to feel comfortable trying to keep his brothers safe.

They finished putting their duffels away when Virgil pulled the taped schedule sheet off the wall. "It looks like we're third shift, not that there's a day or night up here. According to this we're on duty in about an hour, shifts are eight hours long for a 24 hour day. Makes sense."

Gordon was hanging from the ceiling by his toes. "When did Dad say he was sending the laser communication system?"

"I wish you wouldn't do that, it's making me nauseous," Virgil said, stuffing a piece of ginger into his mouth.

"What? Hanging upside-down?" Gordon grinned and turned a slow cartwheel.

"No," Scott said absently, looking at Gordon's feet. "It's the toes. Put some socks on…Besides, do you think John wants to look at your footprints when he goes to bed at night?...Anyway, Dad sent the primary fittings with us but the power supply is coming in the next shipment. See," he said, pointing to the schedule. "Tonight we're going to be wiring in the base couplings and testing the connections."

"Oh yeah, that makes sense," Virgil said, nibbling on another piece of candied ginger. "Well, I brought the extra toolkit. Hopefully we'll have some real progress by the time Al and John get here. I wonder how they're doing?" 

* * *

><p>EARTH—SORT OF <p>

"John, turn the damned thing off, I said!" Alan gritted through clenched teeth from his position flat on the floor of Thunderbird Three's lounge.

"I'm working on it, Alan," John's voice floated down the elevator shaft. "I thought Brains said he'd calibrated this thing!"

"Not well enough!" Alan shouted back. "I. Can't . Move. So shut the damned thing DOWN. …Please." Suddenly he was weightless again and let himself float to the ceiling in relief.

"You okay, Alan?" John's voice floated down the shaft. "You aren't shouting anymore? I didn't squash you like a bug, did I?"

"You wish," Alan muttered. "No, John, I'm okay. I'm usually quiet when I'm okay. Mostly," Alan shouted back. "I'm coming up. I want to see what setting he had that thing set for! I swear, it was at least three G's." He swam to the elevator and made his way upstairs to the cockpit where John was surrounded by wire and a control box.

John looked up as Alan swam in his direction. "Well, at least we know it produces something like gravity. Now we just have to get it to set to one gravity."

"I suppose that's progress," Alan said. "But you get to be guinea pig next time." He pulled himself in closer to the control box. "What setting was it on?"

"Would you believe, it was on '1', said John. "And ours goes all the way to '11'."

"But not lower? I can't believe that," said Alan pulling the control box out of John's hand. "Damn, we've got to recalibrate this thing too? We should have brought Brains up with us."

"No can do, Alan," John said. "The components for Thunderbirds One and Two came in early. Dad needed Brains to test them and make sure they are in spec. We can do this by communicator."

"Wish all I was doing was wiring a communications system. Something easy. Something straight forward and safe," Alan complained in the tone of voice his brothers called 'whiny'.

John quietly wished he were on the space station too. All by himself.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Author's Note: When I came to the Thunderbirds fandom, I was introduced to the renegade country of Bereznik, made of what is mostly the Balkans. To my bemusement, I discovered that, as a half-blood Croatian, I am therefore half-Bereznik. As a descendant of this proud renegade nation, I thought I'd include a bit of Berezniki culture and language. Fortunately, Scott, the man with the hollow legs, enjoyed the cuisine while he was there...There is a restaurant in San Francisco which serves the authentic cuisine of Croatia (or at least my part of it). If you want to know more, e-mail me and I'll give you a review.

TERRA VISTA SPACE HOTEL 

There was a tap at the door. Scott and Virgil looked up from the schedule and Gordon, socks put on, did a somersault to see who had come into the room. A blonde woman in her late twenties floated in. She was dressed in the common blue coverall worn by most of the workers. She gave them a friendly smile and said, "Hi! I'm Bob Harris, Hank's partner. I'll be supervising you during your stay. It's great to meet Jeff's sons."

"Um…Bob?" Scott said. This pretty girl wasn't what he'd been envisioning as Hank's partner.

"Roberta, really, but everyone's called me Bobbi or Bob since I was a kid. So, I'm Bob. I've been a licensed space contractor since I was twenty; family business, as you'd understand, being similarly situated," she said, eyeing Scott coolly.

"Hi, I'm Virgil. These are my brothers, Scott and Gordon," said Virgil moving in quickly. "Hank told us you'd be supervising us."

"Yes, Hank does most of the administrative work while I supervise. Since you'll be doing specialized work, we decided that I should train you. He says you have some electronics skills. How are you on assembly in space?"

"I'm afraid we'll need to work on that," Gordon said with an ingratiating smile. "I've done some construction underwater, but I know that space is different. Virgil is an engineer and Scott," he threw a pitying glance at his eldest brother. "He's just a pilot."

"I see," she said, amused. "Well, suit up and we'll take you outside and see what you can do. I'm told you have some basic suit training? Well, you'll get lots of practice." She grabbed a handhold and turned to leave. "Suit up. I'll meet you in the upper airlock in ten," she said and left.

"Bob," said Scott, still bemused.

"She's not your type, Scott," said Virgil. "For one thing, I think she has your number."

"Definitely not your type, big brother," Gordon agreed, reaching for his suit.

* * *

><p>ORBITING EARTH<p>

"Okay, try it again," Alan heard John shout from the Thunderbird Three lounge. Mentally crossing his fingers, he made sure that the control box was set for 1 gravity, then flipped the switch.

At first he thought John was screaming, but then realized it was actually laughter. "John! What's going on down there?" Alan shouted back, then turned on the view-screen and started laughing himself.

John stood with one foot glued to the floor, the rest of his body floating freely around him. His blonde hair looked like a halo around his face as he flailed his arms and tried to pull his foot loose from the floor. "Turn it off!" John yelled.

Alan hit the switch and watched John float to the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest. "I think we might have some gravity bubbles," Alan shouted to his brother."

"Ya think?" John shouted back.

* * *

><p>TERRA VISTA HOTEL<p>

Bob took the group up to their work area after they'd suited up. They'd brought the same suits they'd used before, Gordon wearing orange stripes, Scott with blue and Virgil with green. Scott had quirked a smile as he watched Virgil put on his green-striped space suit, but said nothing when Virgil glared right back. Gordon just smiled. They'd all heard the story about Virgil's color.

They floated to the upstairs airlock and waited for her to arrive. When she did, her suit wore wide red stripes. "Good, looks like you know how to suit up. Let's check your seals. Put your helmets on," she said, then looked at the readouts on their arms but also tugged at gloves and seals, checking that they were locked. "It's a good idea to double-check. Tell-tales have been wrong before," she said. "Okay, let's go outside."

She led the way into the airlock and paused while it cycled, then supervised while each team member fastened a safety tether to a ring set outside the door. The followed her out to a long mast projecting from the saucer-shaped roof of the station. "Griff's team is working on the other end of the section up here," She pointed and they could see half a dozen men working in an open hatch. "They're finalizing connections to the solar panel system." She turned. "Now, this is the communications array you'll be working on. It's dedicated to coded communications and signals sent in from secret relay stations. We've installed the mast but you'll need to attach the actual components." She nudged a metal box with her foot. "The box is magnetized, so it'll stick to the skin of the station. The contents aren't, so be careful the pieces don't float away. Here are the schematics" She unrolled a plastic sheet and taped it to the surface of the space station. Let's go over them…."

Two hours later, Bob had left, deciding to leave them to it. They worked hard but felt that they'd accomplished something by the time their shift ended and they decided to go in for dinner.

Scott, stomach growling, led the troop into the lounge. "So, let's try the cuisine at this hotel," he said cheerfully to Virgil as they entered the lounge/cafeteria. A group of the Bereznikis were gathered around the table in the corner, feet tucked under the towel-bars.

"Man, what is that that smells so good?" asked Gordon.

Scott sniffed and broke into a smile. "Wow, that does smell good. Looks like _rizi bizi_; I had that when I was in Bereznik. Good food."

"You, sir, were in my country?" called one of the men from the table. Scott floated over and hooked a foot under the group towel-bar.

"Yeah, I served with U.S. Airforce peace-keepers. I flew in relief workers and food during the unrest a few years ago," Scott stuck out his hand. "I'm Scott Thompson. These are my brothers, Virgil and Gordon. _Dobar dan!"_

The other man grinned. "You speak our language? I am very pleased and impressed. Would you care to share our meal? My wife cooks for us and sends up frozen food. The stuff they give us here, it tastes like _govno_!

Scott laughed. "I'd love to, are you sure you have enough?" he said as he gazed longingly at the bowl in the center of the table.

"There is always more for a friend," said the man. "I'm Yonni Vidusich," he said. "These are my other team members, Piotr, Mikhail, Grigory, Bogdan and Ivan." Each man nodded and the Tracys hooked their feet under the bars and settled at the table as Yonni dished up food for them.

"What is this?" asked Virgil. "It looks like rice and peas…"

"That's what it is," said Scott, scarfing a mouthful. "It's a Venetian dish, but the Bereznikis add their own touches."

"Excuse me," said Ivan. "But…not Berezniki. We are Croatian. The Berezniks invaded and stole the land from us. We were our own country before that and we do not forget."

"See," said Grigory, showing a patch on his jacket. It showed a shield with a red and white checker board pattern. "We are Croats, that is our country. We have been a people for a thousand years."

"They pretty much bunched some countries together to create Bereznik, didn't they," asked Virgil, tasting the rice dish.

"Yes," said Yonni. "Serbia, Bosnia, Poland, Slovenia…all different lands, conquered together. And they wonder why there is unrest." He looked at Scott and pulled out another plastic dish. "Try this!"

Scott pulled the lid off and sniffed the strong garlic smell. "Bacala! And polenta. Wow. I haven't had this in ages!" He looked to one side and saw Virgil and Gordon trying to move as far away from him as possible. "Hey, you guys should try it, this was one of my favorites. They only make it at Christmas." He spooned a big glob of polenta and topped it with the bacala, then began digging in.

"What is that?" asked Virgil cautiously.

"Dried salted codfish, soaked and cooked in olive oil and garlic over cornmeal mush," said Scott, his mouth full. "You smell like garlic and fish for hours afterwards, but it's worth it. Try it!"

"Uh…no, thank you Scott," said Virgil. "I'll stick to the peas."

"I'll try it," said Gordon, his eyes gleaming. "I like fish anyway. And you won't mind the garlic smell, will you Virg?"

Virgil surreptitiously fished a piece of ginger out of his pocket and tucked it into his mouth. "You're not sleeping next to me, tonight!" he said.

"How horrible!" Gordon breathed at his brother with a grin.

"Get away from me, Gordon," Virgil batted at Gordon while Scott and the others laughed.

"Yes, usually if one eats this we all have to so that we share the garlic smell. How about some dessert? It should kill the garlic," he unwrapped a packet and handed around pieces of a nut strudel.

"This is much better," said Virgil, munching his piece. "Interesting filling. What is that? Pecans?"

"Nope," said Scott around his mouthful. "Ground walnuts and honey, it's povititsa. Man…I've missed this."

"You should get the recipe for Kyrano," said Gordon, licking his fingers.

"I will ask my wife," Yonni said. "She'll be glad to know that you liked her cooking so much."

Scott sighed, hand on his stomach. "The only thing missing is a glass of prosek. It's a dessert wine. But..no alcohol on board."

"I'm afraid not," said Yonni. "But you are welcome to share our food with us. It does me good to know that we have friends here."

"What? Don't you don't get along with Griff's group?" Virgil asked.

"They have been hostile to us from the day we arrived," said Yonni. "They try to bully us when they can, but Bob stops that." Yonni looked thoughtful. "They blame us for their own incompetence."

* * *

><p>EARTH ORBIT<p>

John stood in one earth gravity, his hair neatly combed on his head. He picked up the communicator and put through a call to Alan, knowing that Alan could see him on the view screen.

Alan, receiving the call, saw that John stood firmly on the ceiling of the downstairs lounge. "We're getting closer, " he said. "Now we need to shift the sensors."

* * *

><p>TERRA VISTA HOTEL<p>

The work days went on, the Tracys sharing occasional meals with the Croats. Their relationship with Griff's team was less cordial. They might get a nod of greeting from one of the Americans, but generally the Americans stayed away from the Berezniks and anyone associated with them.

The station was quiet and they'd almost finished with the communications mast, feeling a pride of accomplishment. It was close to the end of their workday. They'd finished installing several of the modular components. Virgil and Gordon had gone for more parts, while Scott stayed behind to study the plans when he felt the station jar out from under his feet and saw a bright flash across the surface of the space station.

Scott, pushed away by the force of the explosion, grabbed for his safety line in a panic and tried to locate his brothers. He saw tiny bits of debris shooting out of the corner of the station where Griff's team had been working, just as the particles began pinging against his suit and helmet.

He looked for Virgil and Gordon, but didn't see them. Then he noticed that Gordon was clinging to the outside of the station, with Virgil crouched beside him, looking cautiously over the top edge. Scott saw Gordon making a frantic 'come here!' gesture with his arm, just as a big piece of debris caught the eldest Tracy in the middle of his back.

Flailing like a rag doll, Scott was pushed out into space, although his tether still held. "Stay here," Gordon shouted to Virgil over the person to person intercom as he activated his jets and dove for Scott.

"Why can't I help?" demanded Virgil.

"Because I'm better at this than you are!" Gordon said, maneuvering his suited body toward his brother. "And besides, somebody might need to rescue me!"

He caught up with Scott's safety line just before it pulled taut and hauled them together with it. He grabbed his brother under the arms and oriented them back toward the airlock and turned the jets on high, then tried to peer into Scott's helmet. That's when he noticed the tear in his brother's suit and the general deflation of what was normally a suit inflated with atmosphere. "Virg, Scott's got a tear in his suit and he's losing pressure. Get the airlock open!"


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

While a panicky Virgil scrambled to the airlock, Gordon reached for the patch kit loaded at his belt. Pulling out the patch, he removed the sticky back and slapped it onto the tear. Then he closed off the valve letting oxygen into his own suit and hooked it into a bypass valve on Scott's, setting it run on full. He had enough left in his helmet to get him to the airlock. Not so different from buddy breathing underwater, he told himself, but didn't feel reassured.

They'd reached the door of the airlock and Virgil grabbed Gordon by his outstretched arm and yanked them both in, then slammed the airlock closed. As the air cycled in, they both waited impatiently for the air pressure to reach 15,000 feet: survivable without pressurization. Virgil popped off Scott's helmet, and then his own glove and felt for a pulse. "Wish we had one of Brains' magic stretchers," he muttered.

"How's he doing?" asked Gordon.

Virgil sighed with relief. "I've got a pulse. I think we got him in time. He's breathing on his own."

"Good. I don't want to have to figure out how to do CPR in a space suit in free-fall," Gordon said. "Although the way things are going, maybe we should learn." They skinned out of their space suits and racked them.

The airlock opened to chaos. The area immediately inside this airlock, designated the medical bay for Thunderbird Five, had been turned into a triage wing by the construction crews. Three men that they could see were suspended in sleep sacks, half-in and half-out of their suits, being attended to by other construction workers. Droplets of blood floated in the atmosphere, along with bits of suit, bandages and other debris less identifiable.

"My God," said Virgil, towing Scott. "Let's get him to our quarters. I'd rather do first aid in a clean environment."

They got him down to the quiet dormitory level. Gordon shut the door, while Virgil got out the first aid kit he'd insisted on packing. "Gordy, can you anchor Scott while I take a closer look?" He pulled on some plastic gloves from the kit.

"Sure," Gordon said, hooking his feet under a towel-bar on the floor and hanging onto his brother. "Let's get his suit off."

They made quick work of the suit, finding that the lower back portion was shredded and barely made air-tight by the patch. Virgil got out the blood pressure monitor and was inflating the cuff when Scott began to mutter. "I think he's waking up," Gordon said.

Virgil, counting, just nodded as Scott's eyes opened. "What the…?" he said, looking up at their anxious faces, then sighed and closed his eyes again. "You know, I'm beginning to think test-piloting was the safe job," he said softly.

"Okay, blood pressure normal," Virgil said. "I'm beginning to agree with you, Scott. Let's check your back."

"Hey! What are you doing!" Scott yelped as both brothers rolled him over. "This isn't funny, you know!" he said, looking down toward the floor as his hair fanned around him.

"No, it's not," said Virgil absently, looking closely and running a finger over the wound. "You've got a great big bruise with a matching gash here on your low back. I don't know what hit you but it was big and sharp, probably metal. It could probably use stitches, but I'll see what I can do with this." He pulled out a tube of ointment and began scrubbing at the gash with it.

"OW! Hey!" Scott yelled and started to struggle. "Do you have to use sandpaper?"

"He's okay," Gordon said, holding his brother's shoulders firmly in place. "You only have to worry when he's quiet."

Virgil put butterfly bandages over the gash to hold it closed, then applied an adhesive dressing over the wound and nodded at Gordon, then they pulled Scott upright.

"Here, you probably want to put some clothing on," Gordon said and handed him a shirt, pair of shorts and pants. "Need some help?" Gordon asked, then held up both hands when Scott glared.

"Gordon, can you check with Hank and Bob, find out what condition the station is in? How far are we set back?" Scott asked, while he struggled with the jeans. He didn't see Gordon glance at Virgil and Virgil's nod.

"Okay, I'll go find out," said Gordon, pulling his own clothes on. "Be right back."

While Scott painfully got his shirt over his head, Virgil commented, "I wonder what happened. I mean, you don't think it was set, do you?"

"That was quite a flash of light," Scott said, his voice muffled by the shirt. "There had to be some kind of oxidizer in the explosive or oxygen source to fuel the flame. Given the warning we had about 'accidents', I'm suspicious about this one. I think we need to call Dad."

"I agree," said Virgil. "You know how close that was, don't you?" he asked, eyeing his brother.

"Yeah," said Scott. "I know. But I don't think it was directed at us. I just caught the shrapnel from an explosion directed at Griff's workers."

"You don't think the Croatians are behind it, do you?" Virgil asked, worrying at his thumbnail.

"I don't know," Scott said, creakily fastening his jeans. "There's no love lost there, for certain. I just don't see why anyone would want to sabotage the project."

"Not if they think it's a hotel," Virgil pointed out.

"But even if they know it's International Rescue," Scott argued, reaching for his shoes. "We're a rescue organization. We aren't political."

Virgil grabbed for his own clothing and began to dress. "Yeah, but if word has gotten out about the technology we have, that's reason enough. We got lucky this time," he said firmly. "And the leeway for mistakes up here is mighty thin."

"Yeah," his brother replied, looking away. "And I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

There was a tap on the door and Virgil went to open it. In the doorway floated Yonni and Piotr, looking tired and stressed.

"We heard that one of you was injured in the explosion," explained Yonni. "We want to make sure you're all right."

Virgil smiled and motioned them to enter. "Come on in. Yeah, Scott got hit by some shrapnel, but we got him into pressure in time. Scott..?"

Scott smiled at Yonni and shook his hand. "I'm fine, Yonni, Piotr. Just got a nasty scrape and my space suit is tanked. Nothing fatal."

Yonni's face took on a serious look. "You could have been killed. Any breach in the space suit and you are dead. This is not good."

Scott looked wearily at the Croatians. "What are the casualties?" he asked, absently rubbing at his low back.

"Two men killed, they held their breath when their suits were holed," Yonni said sadly. "That makes the decompression…uh…explosive," he said, gesturing with his hands. "The third, they are sending down to earth to the hospital. This is a terrible thing," he said.

"I didn't think you got along with Griff's team," said Virgil.

"They do not get along with us," said Piotr, shrugging. "They blame us for the accidents and because we are from Bereznik. But we don't take lives for granted, whether American or Croatian." He brightened. "But we are glad that you are not seriously injured. We have not enough friends here."

The door opened and a solemn Gordon edged in. "Hi, guys. Hi Yonni! And..uh..Piotr, right?" he said as the greeted him. "Well, the station is still in good shape, no atmosphere lost from the living areas. The explosion was caused by a short in a circuit near the backup oxygen tanks. That's what probably hit you, Scott, a chunk of tank."

"Lucky me," Scott muttered, still rubbing his back. Virgil nudged him and handed him a bottle of pills.

"Take some painkillers. It'll help," he said.

Scott glared but decanted two and swallowed them, grimacing at the taste. "Well, it's good to know we aren't going home just yet," he said, handing the bottle back. He turned to the Croats. "Do they need any help in the infirmary?"

"No," Yonni replied. "Work is finished for the day, Hank has decreed that we will begin again tomorrow. They are cleaning up the infirmary area now. The bodies have been shipped to earth along with the last injured man. Today is for checking our suits for leaks and letting the debris field clear. Tomorrow we repair the damage." He and Piotr moved toward the door. "You are welcome to join us at dinner tonight if you wish. Friends should stay together."

"Thanks, Yonni," said Scott. "We might, at that."

"Well, what now?" asked Gordon.

Scott sighed. "We call Dad. I have a few questions for him."

The call was quickly placed and Jeff Tracy's pleasure at seeing his sons quickly turned to concern when he heard about the accident.

"Are you sure you're okay, son?" he asked. "I can send Alan or John to come get you."

"Yeah, I'm okay," said Scott, deliberately moving his hand away from his low back. "But I am concerned about how this project is going. We hear from the other workers that this was just the latest in a string of accidents. Have Hank and Bob reported these to you?"

Jeff's face took on a more serious cast. "They've mentioned having some accidents and that they are having cost overruns because of them, but they aren't ascribing it to sabotage. Is that what you believe is happening?"

"I just don't know, Father," Scott said. "The Bereznikis say that the American team blames them for their own mistakes. There seems to be bad blood between the two groups; that's hardly conducive to a smooth work environment."

"Did any of you see anything suspicious before the explosion?" Jeff asked.

"Gordon and I were getting parts out of the store room," explained Virgil. "We were on our way back up when the tanks blew."

"Yeah," said Gordon. "We saw the flash and the explosion, then there were pieces of shrapnel behind Scott headed his way. We tried to tell him to run but it was too late."

"It hit the American team's work area," said Virgil thoughtfully. "That's where it was centered. They were working on the solar array and had a panel pulled up, but they weren't working with welders or anything flammable. They were just wiring in components."

"So, short circuit?" Jeff asked.

"That's what Hank and Bob are saying," Scott said. "How well do you know them, anyway?"

"Yeah, and why didn't you tell us that Bob was a girl?" demanded Virgil.

Jeff grinned. "I've known Bob since she was five years old. She's one of the most competent contractors I've ever known. She has a masters in engineering and chose to take over her father's space construction company when he retired. And as for Hank, I knew him in the Air Force and flew with him. He's as solid as they come. I just can't believe that they could be a source of the trouble."

"What about the cost overruns?" Scott queried.

Jeff shrugged. "That happens in construction. They've explained each overrun to me to my satisfaction. If you want, I can tell Hank to let you look over the books."

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I think I need to see them," said Scott. "I can't get a thorough understanding of what's really going on here without it."

"Fair enough. I'm sure they'll see it that way as well," Jeff said.

"Dad, I want to look over the damaged area before it's repaired," said Virgil. "This whole thing bothers me."

"That's understandable," Jeff said. "Gordon, any particular access you want?"

Gordon smiled. "I can manage that by myself. I think I'll ask Bob out."

EARTH ORBIT

"I think that's it," said John, looking at the view screen image of Alan, standing calmly in Thunderbird Three's lounge. "Try dropping something again."

"Okay, John," Alan said and picked up a marble, then tossed it to the floor, where it bounced and rolled. "Looks good. Now we wire the rest of the ship."


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The next day breakfast was a quiet meal. Scott noticed members from both teams gathered at opposite ends of the lounge, even though technically one group was supposed to be at work and the other was on their rest period. One of Griff's group floated over to the table the Tracys were gathered around.

"Hello, you haven't met me yet," said a burly man with sandy hair. "I'm Griff, the team leader for that group over there, what's left of it." He held his hand out and Scott gave it a firm grip and shake.

"Hi, I'm Scott Thompson and these are my brothers Virgil and Gordon," he said easily. "It's good to finally meet you."

Griff wedged his feet under the table's bar and took up a spot next to Scott and across from Virgil and Gordon.

"I heard that one of you got hit by the explosion yesterday," Griff said, leaning in.

"That would be me," Scott said, frowning a bit. "I understand you lost a couple of men. I'm sorry to hear it."

"Yeah, and a third is out with injury. Don't know if we're getting him back again. It looks like you're okay, though," Griff said, eyeing Scott up and down.

"It was minor," Scott said. "I was a distance away and got hit by some shrapnel. Nothing serious."

"I wouldn't call a shredded space suit minor, Scott," Virgil said quietly, sipping his coffee. "It could have been fatal if Gordon hadn't grabbed you so fast."

"So you understand how serious it was," said Griff. "Thing is, there have been a lot of accidents and mostly they hit my guys. I never see the Berezniks getting carried off-station in stretchers." He spat out the name 'Bereznik' as though it were an epithet.

"Do you have any reason to believe these incidents are anything other than accidental?" Scott asked, giving Griff a serious look.

"I can't prove anything, if that's what you're getting at," Griff said, hands flat on the table. "But I'm still down three men. I trust the professionalism of my men, but I understand that one of you is an engineer. I was wondering if the three of you would consider working with my team to replace the workers we've lost. We're also hoping that your engineer can act as an extra quality control, just in case."

"That's not a bad idea, Scott," said Virgil. "At the very least, we might be able to help prevent any more accidents, keep the work flowing."

"What about the special projects we're supposed to be working on?" Gordon asked. "And we aren't fully trained. That's why we're working with Bob, remember?"

Scott was silent, considering. "Well, if Griff is willing to release us for some of our original projects, I don't see a problem with our joining his team. John and Alan will be joining us soon anyway and they can pick up where we left off."

"There's going to be more of you?" Griff asked. "Brothers?"

Gordon grinned. "Yeah, there are five of us. We all want to learn space construction, but Alan and John are better at it than we are."

Virgil snorted and Scott bit back a smile. "Let me confirm this with Bob and Hank before we say a definite 'yes'," said Scott. "In the meantime, why don't you have Virgil take a look at the spot you were working on yesterday, see if anything stands out to him." Scott flashed Gordon a look and nodded toward Virgil.

"Fine by me," said Griff. "You want to come out now and take a look?"

Virgil finished his coffee. "Sure, let's go."

"I'll come too," Gordon said, catching Scott's meaning. Buddying up right now was a good idea. Besides, he didn't want to sit in on Scott's interview with Hank and Bob.

CENTRAL CONTROL—HANK'S OFFICE

Jeff was already on the videophone with Hank and Bob when Scott arrived. "I'm awfully sorry, Jeff, that your son got hurt," said Hank solemnly. "We have been having problems with accidents but since it mostly has involved Griff's group and it's been minor before this, we haven't worried too much about it."

"It doesn't seem to be minor anymore," said Scott, from just inside the airlock door. He moved forward, grabbing hand-holds as he went. "We're concerned about the loss of life and want to prevent any future occurrences if possible. We're also concerned about how these accidents are affecting cost of the project. Hi Dad," Scott said, pulling up to the desk. "Hank. Bob."

Each of the contractors gave him a nod in greeting.

"Well, of course you can look over the books," said Hank. "While we've had some overruns, they're within our original projections. We have to go into the red to make the bankruptcy look real. By all means, take a look at them here or I can send them to your hand-held, Scott."

"I'll work here, if it's okay with you," Scott said. "This is the quietest spot on the station right now. I'd also like to see the accident reports."

"Help yourself to the terminal right there," said Hank, pointing to a monitor built into the station wall. Scott moved over to it and hooked his feet under the bar, hitting several keys to advance the screens.

"We don't mean to critique your handling of the project so far, Hank, or yours, Bob," Jeff said quickly. "But since you had two deaths yesterday, I feel that we need to take another look at the way we're managing it and the people involved."

"As a matter of fact, I have something to add," Scott said, looking up from the computer screen. "Griff has asked us to join his team to replace the injured and lost workers. We've agreed, as long as Hank and Bob are okay with it."

Jeff's eyebrows drew close together in a look of concern. "Are you sure that's a good idea, son? Griff's people have been the targets of this…sabotage…for lack of a better term. You'll be on the firing line."

"Virgil will be checking everybody's work and generally keeping an eye on the site. And Alan and John will be arriving soon; I understand that they've finished with the artificial gravity on Three. They can finish our projects and act as backup. It'll be harder to kill anyone with all five of us watching."

"But not impossible," Jeff pointed out. "All right. We aren't going into this business to stay safe, in any case. But be careful. If you get even a hint of trouble, I want you out of there. Hank? Bob? Can you work with this?"

Hank looked concerned but Bob was livid. "Jeff, we're here to build a space station, not nursemaid a bunch of trainees. With all due respect to Scott and the rest of your sons, but space isn't a safe place and neither is a construction site."

"We understand that," said Scot wearily, his back was aching again. "We can take care of ourselves. You won't be our nursemaid; in fact, Griff has offered to train us."

Bob waved a hand. "All right, that's fine with me. As long as your work is up to spec, I'm cool." She and Scott exchanged slightly resentful glances.

Jeff adopted a calming tone. "All right then, it's settled. Virgil, Gordon and Scott will join Griff's team and Alan and John will do the special projects. They should arrive in the next cargo rocket.

TRACY ISLAND

"Boys, I'd like to talk to you," Jeff said over the breakfast table.

"About…?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You're leaving for the space station shortly. There are a few things you don't know," Jeff said. "There have been some accidents."

"What accidents?" Alan asked, alarmed. "Who got hurt?"

"Two days ago there was an explosion on the work site, two of the workers were killed and two were injured, one of the injured is your brother Scott," Jeff said, then quickly raised a hand. "He got hit in the back and tore his suit, but he's fine. Gordon and Virgil got to him quickly and there's no harm done."

"What happened?" asked John, eyes narrowing. "Our workers should be better than that."

"At this point in time, we're theorizing it was a short," Jeff explained. "But we aren't ruling out sabotage. This is the fifth incident since construction began, and the worst. Virgil will be checking this group's work and Scott is looking at any paper trail there may be."

"What can we do?" Alan urged, face dead serious.

"For the time being, you will be working on International Rescue projects while Gordon, Scott and Virgil work along with the troubled work-team. I'd like you to keep an eye on your brothers' safety, just in case," Jeff's face suddenly looked worn. "We may be overblowing the risks, but the fact remains that this project is over-budget, nearing our acceptable limits, largely because of the accidents. And we can't ignore the fact that two people died this week. You two have the necessary safety training that your brothers don't. Just…stay alert."

Both Alan and John nodded.

John had finished packing his duffel when Alan wandered into his room, duffel over his shoulder.

"So, are you ready to go yet?" Alan asked.

"I guess so," John pushed his hand-held reader onto the top of the pile. "I'm worried, though."

"Yeah," Alan acknowledged uncomfortably, setting his down on the floor. "It was hard enough trying to train them in what we thought was a controlled environment."

"Well, with the two of us keeping an eye out, they'll be safer than they are now," John replied, zipping his duffel closed.

"So, how many books are you bringing?" Alan asked, eyeing John's overstuffed luggage.

"I'm bringing 10 absolutely essential books," John said seriously. "And they're all on my e-reader. I'm starting to research for a new astronomy book."

"Uh huh," said Alan. "Well, I thought I'd bring some movies, try to lighten up the atmosphere. I've included some old favorites, 'The Space Squid!' and 'Revenge of the Space Squid!," he patted the duffel affectionately.

"Oh, not those," John cringed. "Le Cinema Schlock…with exclamation points, no less."

"Hey, it's funny now. Besides, the Squid is a classic and we're going to be in space anyway so it's appropriate," Alan said defensively. "I also brought 'Plan 9 from Outer Space' and 'Night of the Living Dead'."

"You'll be lucky if they don't shove you out the airlock," John muttered as he reached over to sling the duffel over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," said John. "C'mon, let's go."

* * *

><p>Scott spent the better part of the day examining both the accounting records and the reports of the various accidents. Finally, after six hours desk-bound, he stretched and let himself float away from the computer. The results, taken together, were sobering.<p>

If the Terra Vista Hotel had been intended to actually open as a business concern, it would be bankrupt by now. The combination of lost time due to accidental injuries and work setbacks, combined with cost overruns related to fouled and missing supplies had put the finances of the project deeply in the red. Of course, it had been set up to go bankrupt, but not this successfully. Scott wondered just how much attention his father had been paying to the bigger picture.

"So, how is it going?" Bob came through the side airlock door, sans space suit, wearing her cooling under-suit instead, which had the effect of leaving very little of her body to the imagination.

"Uh, it's very interesting," said Scott. Eyes. Look at her eyes. "If the Terra Vista had to actually make money, we'd be sunk."

"Isn't that the intent?" Bob asked.

"Eventually, but not yet," Scott replied. "The five accidents have set back the project a total of six months. That's not a big deal down on Earth, but it amounts to a lot for a project in space since the workers' wages are commensurately higher. I printed out some figures for you and Hank." Scott pulled off a clipboard velcroed to the wall and handed it to Bob. "Can you think of any reason that someone wouldn't want the Terra Vista to open?"

Bob glanced at the clipboard. "It isn't anything I felt I needed to worry about till now," she said. "Since the purpose isn't to open as a hotel anyway. But nobody has said anything," she said. "If anything, the workers are proud to be building a luxury hotel in space." She velcroed the clipboard back onto the wall.

"I..uh...also wanted to apologize for my behavior when we first met," said Scott. "I wasn't very polite."

Bob smiled. "It was an honest reaction."

"And one I imagine you get more often than you care to," Scott added with a smile. "I just didn't expect a woman.."

"To be a general contractor," she finished the sentence for him, arms crossed over her…uh…abundant chest. "Look, women do lots of things these days. And just because I'm female doesn't mean I can't build things."

"No, it doesn't," Scott said seriously. "In the Air Force I commanded both male and female personnel and they were all professionals. I just...well...put my foot in my mouth and I apologize."

"Accepted," Bob said. "So, do you think the accidents are sabotage?"

"I'm withholding final judgment until Virg has a look at the quality of work that's been done, but it's my suspicion, yes," Scott cast a worried look at the computer.

"Why so worried?" she asked, glancing at the clipboard again. "We intend the 'hotel' to go belly up anyway when the work is done."

"It's the cost in human life," he said. "It's hard to explain, but International Rescue is intended to be an organization to save life. Dad's initial idea is grounded in the circumstances of my mother's death. Now, these...occurrences...have killed two people and maimed one. First a couple of fuses blew, but within the station, injuries minor. Then atmosphere was lost in some of the unused portions of the station: explainable. Somebody got a nasty shock when a supposedly non-powered wire turned out to be live, okay accident. Then somebody else broke an arm two weeks ago when an airlock slammed shut unexpectedly. Now two people dead, one hospitalized and I almost buy it. These incidents are getting more violent over time. Dad put me here as his representative and I feel responsible for the safety and well-being of every person on this station."

"So why is that your responsibility?" Bob asked. "If anything, Hank and I as the General Contractors are in charge of safety."

"I'm the International Rescue field commander," said Scott. "It's my call what happens next, subject to Dad's approval." His face grew still, sinking into deep lines. "I just wonder whether I should order the place evacuated and finish the work ourselves."

"Do that, and you'll be here until you're retirement age! It's no joke that it took NASA over ten years to build the International Space Station, one module at a time," Bob insisted. "We need to keep the crews at work until the only parts remaining to be installed are specific to International Rescue. Otherwise, you'll never get IR off the ground."

"Yeah, I can see that," Scott nodded in agreement. "We'll continue for now and inspect the work as we go. It'll slow us down, but it's better than another accident."

* * *

><p>The brothers gathered at dinner and spoke softly at their corner table.<p>

"So, how did the work go today?" Scott asked.

Virgil shrugged and bit into his burrito. "Just fine. Griff's team did some beautiful work today, very meticulous and absolutely on-spec. I have no complaints at all. They know what they're doing."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed, scooping up his microwave spaghetti. "We were the ones that needed to do things over. But aside from that, everything went fine."

"Well, that's a relief," Scott said and began to pick at his unidentifiable microwaved meal. He supposed it was nutritious, but it wasn't Kyrano's cooking either.

"Okay, what's bothering you?," Virgil asked. "You were born with hollow legs. When you don't eat, you're upset about something."

"It's nothing," said Scott. "Just preoccupied. Wondering when the next shoe will drop. Debating whether we should call a halt and evacuate right now."

"But the station isn't ready," Gordon said, his voice rising.

"Shhhh...Gordy, not so loud," Scott cautioned him. "Yeah, you're right. There's still a lot to do, but I'm concerned about the potential for sabotage."

"You haven't found any proof of actual sabotage, have you?" Virgil asked.

"Nothing definite, no," Scott admitted, turning over unidentifiable bits with his spoon. "But with Alan and John coming out to join us, that's two more potential casualties if it is sabotage. In any case, I'm starting to go over the change orders, comparing them to the blueprints, there are some odd discrepancies in the power and oxygen usage on the station. I want to track them down and make sure we don't have a leak." He sighed and put the cover back on the meal. "Then I want to go over the supply manifests."

"In other words, you're planning to do a full audit," Virgil said. "Aren't you going to be working outside with us?"

"Oh yes, that too," Scott said. "I'll take a couple hours per day to look over the paperwork side. If I sat at a desk all day it would drive me nuts."

"Better you than me," Gordon replied. "I always felt sorry for you when Dad made you take those accounting and finance classes. I'll stick with oceanography."

When Scott got up to take their trash and his own untouched plate over to the trash compactor, Gordon leaned in toward Virgil and asked quietly, "Is he okay?"

Virgil watched Scott and replied, "I don't know, Gordy. I just don't know. This is a lot of responsibility Dad has given him and he's feeling it."

"Well, we'd better be sure not to screw up, then," Gordon said. "He's got enough to worry about."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

The supply shuttle arrived on time and every person on the space station was there to greet it. For most, it meant the arrival of the mail: either video-letters from home or packages for the fortunate ones. For everyone, it meant that the informal gift shop was restocked with snack food and various toiletries. It also meant personnel exchange. Those who had been on-station for 30 days had to leave for Earth, or else lose their health because of the micro-gravity environment. Four of the Croatians left and were replaced by alternate team-mates. Griff's group wouldn't lose anyone until the next rocket in two weeks. And then, there were the two new Thompsons.

"Hey! John! We're over here!" called Virgil from the back of the crowd. John, peering through the floating bodies, caught Virgil's glance and grinned back. He motioned to Alan, behind him, and they both made as direct a line to their brothers as they could.

"Boy are we glad to see you two!" The usually stoic Scott cried as he gave first John and then Alan bear hugs.

"Wow, it's nice to be welcome," Alan said, moving over to slap Gordon on the back. "You guys look like you're doing great. Even Virgil looks healthy."

"Yeah, well I'm getting tired of ginger," Virgil said. "They guys on Griff's team have adopted that as my nickname: 'Ginger'. And it's not like I have red hair, like somebody I know."

"Oh, I dunno, Virg," Scott said casually. "I think all that ginger is changing your hair color. Don't you think there's more red in there than before we left home?"

"Oh yeah, Virgil, your hair will match mine before long," Gordon said with perfect sincerity.

"Riiiiiiight," Virgil replied. "And you've got a bridge to sell me, too. Anyway, did you guys bring any more? I'm starting to run out."

"Kyrano packed it personally," John patted the side of his duffel. "It should last you the rest of the trip." He craned his neck and looked around. "So this is it?"

"Oh no, John," Scott said with a grin. "You haven't seen anything yet. Tell you what, let's get your luggage put away and we'll give you a tour. Today's a holiday on the station, so we aren't working outside."

"Sure, let's go," John replied. All five brothers made their way to the dormitory wing and their, now seemingly much smaller, room. When he got inside, John went immediately to the window and began to look at the stars until he was pushed to one side by an equally fascinated Alan. 

* * *

><p>"That's just beautiful," Alan whispered in awe.<p>

"You got that right," John said. "Maybe I'll pick this for my room when she's finished."

It took the brothers ten determined minutes to pry John and Alan away from the view. Then they were willingly tugged along on a tour of the station.

Scott brought John and Alan to the Control Room to introduce them to Hank…and Bob. Alan and John were bemused to discover that Bob was a petite blonde with an attitude.

"Wow, more Tracys," she commented. "How many of you are there, anyway?"

Putting on his charm, John replied, "There are five of us. This is Alan, our baby brother…"

"Hey!" Alan interjected.

"…and I'm the middle Tracy son," John finished smoothly. "It took Mom and Dad that long to get it right."

"Oh, I see," Bob's lips quirked a bit. "So, you'll be working on the 'special projects' I understand."

"Better than that," John said. "The guys don't know this yet, but we finished the artificial gravity system, tested it and brought it here for installation."

"Wow! It's ready to go for Five?" Scott interrupted. "That's terrific!"

"Yeah," John replied. "But it's gonna take at least four of us to install. I know you've got a deal with Griff's group, but if we're going to put it in, we'll need the manpower. We have to pull up the deck plating and install the emitters under the flooring."

"And just how are we going to explain this to the other crews?" Virgil looked at John skeptically.

"Entertainment system," Alan said blandly. "Tell them we're installing the components for a stationwide entertainment system. It's wired, not wireless, because of interference."

"That…could work," Virgil nodded.

"We'll work something out. Darn! I was hoping to get in with Griff and see what's been going on with them," Scott said in frustration.

"There's no reason you can't stay with them while your brothers help John," Hank suggested. "Whatever gets the work done."

"Let me consider it," Scott said. "In any case, John, Alan, let's complete our tour with the lounge. Knowing you two," he grinned. "You'll both probably spend a lot of time in there making coffee and complaining about the food."

"What's wrong with our food?" Bob demanded. "It's nutritionally balanced!"

Scott shook his head. "You should taste Kyrano's cooking. Now *that's* food!" He grabbed at the nearest handle and began to float to the tube down, his brothers following. 

* * *

><p>In the lounge, they saw the usual mix of off-duty workers: a couple of men from Griff's team at one end of the room, a Berezniki or three at the other end of the room. Scott held himself back while both brothers propelled themselves at speed for the windows.<p>

"And I thought the view from our room was great…" Alan commented, face pressed against the glass.

"Alan, you're smearing," John said, fishing in his pocket for a Kleenex and handing it to Alan. "It seems like I've been cleaning up after you all my life."

"All of Alan's life, you mean…" Scott commented from behind them. "So, what do you think of the Earth?"

"Why do you suppose they have the curtains drawn in the Control Center? This is magnificent," John muttered. "I'm not ever going to close them."

"Probably because it's a distraction," Scott responded, hypnotized by the glowing earth as well.

"I can see that. I guess." John reluctantly pulled himself away from the view.

"Back to our room, I suppose," Scott said. "We have a lot to catch up on."

* * *

><p>Back in the room, Alan and John listened intently to their brothers' account of their time at the station so far and showed them Scott's shredded space suit.<p>

"That was way too close," John said, putting a hand through the hole in the space suit. "And you're lucky to be alive, Scott. Dad just said a tear in your suit, not that the entire back was shredded. Good thing you got the breath knocked out of you."

"Why is that?" Scott asked. "As it was, lack of oxygen knocked me out pretty fast."

"Scott," said John, seriously. "If you're exposed to hard vacuum, you can't hold your breath; you've got to exhale immediately. If you don't, the air remaining in your lungs will expand and your lungs will explode."

"You're kidding," Scott muttered, then took in Alan's and John's grim faces. "You're not kidding. I mean, I was still in a space suit. There was atmosphere in it…"

John fingered the frayed edges of the hole and pushed the suit away. "It was leaking fast and depressurizing. You got lucky, bro. I can see why Dad wanted us to keep an eye on you."

"So what other safety information did you forget to tell us?" Gordon asked, white with anger, flipping himself upright. "And you'd better spill it all before I have to haul another body into the airlock."

"Okay, I earned that," John said with a sigh, running a hand through his blond hair. "Uh..If you start having changes in your vision, tell Alan or I so that we can send you home. Living in microgravity can cause blindness for a certain percentage of people. In the old NASA program, they found that some astronauts were only in orbit two weeks when their vision started to change. Usually it was those who were weightless for six months or more who had the worst damage, and it tended to be permanent. Theory is that the condition is caused by weightlessness, so with the artificial gravity system we hope will prevent that." He held up a hand with two fingers. "Two, if, God forbid, you ever find yourself in space without a space suit you don't explode or freeze instantly like you see in the movies. As long as your lungs are empty, you'll feel cool but not uncomfortable for about the fifteen seconds it takes for your brain to deplete its available oxygen. That's how much time you have to react. You may feel the saliva in your mouth begin to boil…"

Gordon held a hand to his mouth. "Like a burn?"

Alan explained. "It's the liquids converting into a gaseous form, basically any free liquids boil away, but not due to heat. And you won't freeze because heat doesn't transfer away from a body quickly. And if you're in sunlight, expect a bad sunburn."

"Oh, and you can experience swelling in your extremities, which can be painful and render them unusable, also you could get the bends or something like it," John added. "But none of these conditions is irreversible. If you get back into pressure in time, you can recover from it all. Just get back in before you lose consciousness. Let's see, what else?" He turned to Alan.

"Uh..germs seem to multiply twice as fast in space as on Earth, so personal hygiene is vital. Microgravity will also depress your immune system, so you're more likely to catch something," Alan took up the list. "Keep using hand sanitizer and cleaning your hands."

There was a long, depressed silence which Virgil broke, "Just one more question. You said that Dad told you to watch over us? Has he made you our babysitters?" He eyed both his younger brothers resentfully.

"We still know more about the territory than you do," Alan insisted, his voice rising. "How do you think John or I would feel if one of you got hurt? Or died up here? You almost did!"

"Calm down, Al," Scott moved over to Alan's side and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine. We're all fine."

"Yeah, with multiple accidents already. I don't like this," Alan said, arms folded over chest. "I just don't like this at all."

"You're not alone there," Gordon said, rotating slowly near the ceiling. "But the work needs to be done and this is the situation we're stuck with."

"All right," Alan admitted. "We're stuck. But be careful, will ya?"

"We will," Scott agreed, patting Alan on the shoulder again. "And now," double checking his watch. "It's about time for dinner. Care to join us in the lounge? If we're lucky, the Bereznikis got a care package from home."

"Scott's been enjoying Bereznik/Croatian home cooking," Virgil explained to John and Alan. "We really should contribute something ourselves. Did you bring anything from Kyrano?"

John grinned. "We brought an apple pie, if that's what you're asking."

"Okay," Scott sighed. "Get it out and we'll share it with them. They've been feeding us almost since we arrived."

"Yeah, their food is much better than the microwaved dinners," Gordon said as John rummaged in his duffel bag. "How did you get so much stuff into one nylon bag, John? It looks like you packed everything but the kitchen sink!"

"And the dinette set, too," Alan grumbled. "He could barely zip it closed and I had to listen to him bitch about the weight all the way through the spaceport lines."

"Here it is," John held the pie triumphantly overhead. "Kyrano packed it so it wouldn't spill."

"I'll take that," Virgil floated by and snatched it away. "If Scott's hungry, you don't want him anywhere near it."

Scott only shook his head. "How I am misunderstood…." He opened the door to the hallway. "Okay, let's get to the lounge. After you, Virgil." Holding on to the door sill, he swept the other hand gallantly.

"Oh no," Virgil said, shaking his head. "You go first. I know you. If you want to treat the Bereznikis, the pie and I go after you, Big Brother."

Eventually, they all made it to the lounge where the Bereznikis were at their table. Yonni waved when he saw Scott in the lead. "Scott! Come over here! My wife has sent a feast for us. You all must join us. Are these your brothers?"

Scott gestured toward Alan and John. "Yonni, these are my brothers John and our youngest brother Alan."

Alan glared at Scott and muttered to Gordon, "Why does he always have to add that?"

Gordon stifled a smile. "Well, you are the youngest, aren't you?" he asked reasonably.

Not hearing the byplay, Scott reached to one side and tried to grab at the pie. "And Virgil has a little something from home, one of Kyrano's apple pies. We'd like to contribute to the meal."

Virgil grinned and moved away from Scott, handing the pie to Yonni. "Here you go, Yonni. One of the best apple pies you'll ever taste. The only one who makes them better is our grandma in Kansas."

Yonni's eyes danced, watching the two brothers. "We are honored to have such a fine dessert. Please join us for dinner. My wife has made calamari in tomato sauce, and a brudet. That's...ah…fish cooked with garlic, tomatoes, onions over polenta. "

The Tracys sat at the table and Yonni doled out the portions and forks. "My wife, she makes the sauces stick to the plates by adding Parmesano Reggiano to them. Enjoy!"

After the meal, the apple pie was a hit with the entire group and even Scott looked content with his tiny slice since everyone looked happy.

"I never expected to eat so well on a space station," Alan commented, spooning up the last of his pie.

"Generally, you don't," John said. "Mostly frozen, microwavable meals, I…ah…understand."

"It doesn't have to be that bad if your cook knows how to package things," Yonni commented, finishing his own pie. "Alas, the only thing that will not work in micro-gravity is the carbonated beverages."

"Oh yeah," Alan smiled, remembering some practical jokes in his past. "It turns into a foamy mess."

"And makes you sick if you drink it in micro-gravity," John added. "The carbon dioxide doesn't separate from the rest of the liquid like it does in gravity, it makes you burp and when you burp, you throw up."

"Eeeeeewwww!" Gordon said. "And here I've been wanting a soda really bad."

"Better not," Alan said, grinning. "They tried it on me my first flight and I learned. Oh, how I learned."

Before the group broke up, there was an announcement. In celebration of the supply ship's arrival, that evening would be a movie night. Held in the lounge, all workers were invited. Alan was hot to donate his movies to the cause and was sent to talk to Bob. Gordon tagged along, ostensively to 'show him the way because he's new'. 

* * *

><p>CONTROL OFFICE<p>

Bob turned over the movie cases dubiously, focusing on "The Space Squid!". "I'm not sure that this is right for our group, Alan."

"No, it's a great film," Alan insisted. "Well, maybe not great, but it's so bad it's funny."

"Tell you what, I'll borrow all of them and Hank can poll the audience. If they want it, we'll show it," she finally said.

"By the way, Bob," Gordon asked with his best boyish grin. "Are you attending movie night?"

"I was thinking about it," Bob admitted. "Why?"

"I was wondering if you'd attend with me?" Gordon said. "Kind of like a date."

Bob grinned. "A date, huh? I'm the only woman on-station. Do you know how many 'dates' I've been offered?" She eyed an abashed looking Gordon, then said. "Okay. It's a deal. I'm in room one. Pick me up at seven."

"Great," Gordon said cheerfully. "I'll be there."

On their way out, Alan's only comment to Gordon was, "I always knew you had gall; now I'm certain of it."

Gordon just shrugged. "You snooze, you lose."

To his brothers' amusement, Alan's squid movie was picked for the lineup in the lounge. Hank and Bob had arranged rows of towel bars facing the screen to approximate lines of chairs. Virgil, Alan and John took their 'seats' and craned their necks looking for Scott and Gordon.

"Well, wouldja look at that…?" Virgil commented with a low whistle as Gordon and Bob entered the room together and floated over to the front row, where they 'sat' together. "He said he was going to ask her out. I guess he really did." Alan just smiled, although John frowned a bit.

"I wonder where Scott is?" Alan asked, checking his watch. "The movies are starting soon."

"I don't know what you're talking about and I don't respond to threats!" They could hear Scott's angry voice through the open door as he pulled himself into the lounge.

"You're buddy-buddy with those murdering Berezniks!" Griff piled in after him. "And mark my words, if you stick by them you're gonna suffer for it!" Griff growled, eyes narrowing and one hand in a fist.

Scott's own expression was thunderous and his hands were in fists as well. "I make my own decisions, Griff, and if you can't handle that, it's your problem, not mine."

"Oh, you'll pay for it, mark my words, Thompson! You'll pay in blood!" Griff shouted, then hurried out of the lounge and away.

Scott watched him go, then made his way through the now-silent room to his brothers' row and set himself next to John. Virgil cast a worried look at him. "What was that all about?"

Scott, face red with anger, replied. "Griff wants me to swear off my friendship with the Berezniks and keep away from them. If I don't, I'll face the consequences, the first of which is being booted off his team. I guess I'm working with you guys tomorrow. So much for trying to be friendly with everybody."

Gordon floated over and grabbed Scott's shoulder. "That was Griff, they guy who hold grudges, wasn't it?" he asked. Scott shrugged. "I'll stick with you guys. I'm in no danger as long as I'm not working with his team."

"It's an awfully small station," said Bob, who'd followed Gordon over. "I'd watch myself, Scott. Griff's a bad enemy to have."


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

After the run-in with Griff, all five brothers were alert for trouble, even to the extent of John insisting that they stay together in pairs. Alan complained that if anyone had to have a bodyguard, it was Scott and was Gordon going to follow Alan to the bathroom as well.

This was quashed by a group glare at the Tracy youngest.

After a few days, with Griff seen only to grumble at Scott's presence, it was gradually decided that Griff wasn't a danger, just an annoyance, and work continued as before. Scott began working with his brothers again, a change that Griff tacitly accepted, and the Tracys continued to have periodic meals with the Bereznikis.

Finally, one day at lunch, a nervous looking Griff approached Scott. "Thompson, I'd like a word with you," Griff said in an undertone.

"All right," Scott replied easily. "What do you have to say?"

Griff eyed the gathered brothers uneasily, noting the hostile looks he was getting from the youngest three and cleared his throat. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I exploded at you the other day. It wasn't right. You got the right to have whatever friends you want….I got a short temper and my wife yells at me a lot about it. I…uh..apologize." He put his hand out, offering to shake.

Scott extended his as well. "I'm glad, Griff. I'd rather have you as a friend."

Griff looked relieved and soon excused himself and went back to his own men.

Alan cast a resentful look at Griff's back. "I hope you don't take him seriously, Scott."

"I don't want trouble, Alan," Scott eyed Griff as well. "And I'm not going to be the one to start it." 

* * *

><p>The final large component had arrived with the supply rocket, a pie-slice shaped wedge that would complete the disk that was Thunderbird Five. In what John suspected was insanity, and because, he reasoned, they would need to know the guts of how TB5 was constructed, John had volunteered his team to help attach it. The brothers had become 'his' team by two simple expedients, all four had voted him leader and Scott had insisted. "You've forgotten more about space than I ever knew, John," Scott said. "The other day, when you rattled off every potential danger in space convinced me that you're still the man for the job. I'm conceding the role to you."<p>

Now, standing in his space suit with the bright sunshine glaring down on John and his team, he began to seriously wish he'd taken up oceanography like Gordon.

Gordon, Scott and Virgil had been in free fall for weeks now. He didn't have any concerns about Alan, who'd had astronaut training and therefore adequate time in free fall as well as recent practice. Gordon moved well in null-g, probably because scuba diving was second nature to him. The ones he worried about were still his two older brothers, both of whom frankly moved like water buffalo in space. They'd all had some basic training in the International Space Station, and had also practiced underwater in the oceans around Tracy Island; good but not an exact correspondence. And, of course, there was the shuttle debacle and some time here on-station before he and Alan had arrived, but Scott and Virgil just weren't picking it up as fast as the other brothers had.

He touched his communicator. "Virgil, don't forget why your soles have magnetic plates in them; they'll anchor you to the girder and simulate gravity. You have one foot coming loose! Fasten it down!" He watched Virgil shrug in his space suit, then dig his foot back into the girder, while he held a beam steady for Gordon to weld.

In the interests of safety he'd teamed one better-skilled astronaut with a less technical partner. Gordon, who swam in space as well as in water, worked with Virgil while Alan kept a subtle eye on Scott. Scott hadn't forgotten the accident and his hesitancy showed, although he never complained. Neither did he ask for guidance or help. The trouble with older brothers, John mused, was that they were used to being the ones in charge, with better skills and advanced knowledge. They had trouble recognizing competence in a younger brother, especially when it exceeded their own abilities in that arena.

Still, she was coming together nicely and John would be glad when he could take up his duties. John had designed the radio telescope array that was going in. It would give him better access to the stars than any of the observatories on Earth and he wouldn't have to share telescope time. The thought made him smile to himself. And there'd be nobody there to tease him about keeping his head in the clouds all the time!

"Hey!" John was torn from his reverie by Scott's shout. He looked up to see Virgil floating slowly away from the array, despite frantic attempts to swim back.

"Your jets, Virgil, use your jets," John spoke crisply into his communicator. He spotted Scott trying to unhook his safety harness. "Scott, don't try to go get him. He's got to learn how to do this. Alan or I can go after him if need be. Virgil, you aren't at the end of your safety line yet, so try to use the jets to maneuver yourself back rather than reeling yourself back in."

They had to learn to move freely in space, not tied down by safety lines. Alan, Gordon and John were already off the ropes and Scott was making progress. But Virgil…John sighed and reminded himself to be patient, remembering how hard it had been, learning to drive that damned Firefly. And he wasn't looking forward to training in Thunderbird Two.

"This is supposed to be team-building, isn't it?" Virgil called out gamely as he deployed his suit's jets, moving incrementally back to the array. "I mean, you get to stop looking up to me as your infallible older brother."

John heard Gordon snicker. "We never thought you were infallible, Virg," he said patiently. "Doin' good with the jets. Just a little bit farther…You do play a mean piano, though…Doin' fine..And there you are." He let out a breath and hoped the radio hadn't caught it. Confidence. That's what Scott said a commander projected. Confidence in his men.

Boy, would he be glad when the Thunderbird Five was complete and he could let Scott be in charge instead. 

* * *

><p>As usual, every evening after their shift was over, Scott would go to the Command Center to work through the paper trail of the project. He was convinced that the answers to the overruns could be found there. One of Dad's forensic accountants had taught him a few tricks, and Scott gratefully used them to examine the books, shipping manifests and electronic inventory. Methodically, he went through the information, keeping encrypted notes on the hidden International Rescue database already installed in the master computers.<p>

At last, late one evening, he stopped and rubbed his dry eyes with his fingers, then refocused on his conclusions. "This can't be right," he muttered. "Some of these numbers don't make sense. The oxygen usage is way out of line. The power usage is much too big." He scratched his head and went through a few more screens.

_I've about memorized the blueprints for Five and the oxygen usage figures just don't match available pressurized space. Either we've got a slow leak somewhere, or there's a pressurized room that's not accounted for on the blueprints._ He flicked to a different screen. _And there's been a steady loss of supplies. They never make it here to the station. Not enough to be readily noticeable, but the drain is there over time. _He yawned and stretched. _Darn it, it's getting late. Can't stop now, though. I'm finally getting somewhere._

He matched two screens, then did a calculation and finally sat staring. Several large component parts had never arrived and had to be reordered. Put together, they were worth several million dollars_. If this 'hotel' had to make a profit, we'd never be able to make this month's payroll because of the shortages, as well as the accidents and work stoppages. _He ran through the data one more time to make sure of his numbers.

_The drain is definitely faster than we planned for. We're not ready to close up shop yet. Running wire for the artificial gravity system could wait but we still need to finish that last part of the wedge and pressurize it. I need to discuss this with Father…But I'm too tired to do it right now. I'll upload this to my encrypted files and talk to Dad tomorrow. There's something going on up here. _He shut down the computer and left the office, nodding to the construction worker he passed along the way. 

* * *

><p>"So, where's Scott?" Gordon asked, floating free in their shared room while reading an oceanographic journal.<p>

"In the office, working on his audit again. I don't envy him." Virgil said, changing from t-shirt and jeans to pajamas. He pulled over to his sleep sack and got into it.

"He hasn't gotten more than four hours sleep every night this week," John commented, putting his e-reader aside. "That's not safe up here."

"Do you want to be the one to tell him?" Virgil asked with a grin and pushed Alan, floating by engrossed in a movie on his tablet player, aside. "I don't."

"Yeah, John," Gordon joined in. "As…um…'Team Leader' and grand pooh-bah, you're the one who rides herd on us." He focused on his journal again. "Don't ask me to talk to Scott. That's your job."

Even though all five of them had to share one small room, Gordon had to admit it wasn't going as badly as it could be. He'd lived in very close quarters with co-workers and had to admit that Scott's quiet idea of electing John leader had worked well. Every one of them was holding on to his temper as tightly as possible. Best of all, with John as team leader, he had squelched his usual astringent sarcasm to live up to the role. 

* * *

><p>Unusually, Virgil was up before Scott the next morning and had the dubious privilege of waking him. "Okay, Scott. Up and at 'em…" Virgil tugged at Scott's sleep sack.<p>

"Ten more minutes…" Scott muttered.

"Scott, it's time to get up," Virgil shouted in his brother's ear. Scott jerked awake and saw his brothers watching him with amusement.

"You didn't have to yell so loud…." He grumbled as he slowly pulled himself out of the sleep sack and got himself dressed with help from his brothers, who each handed him an article of attire. "Okay, okay, I get your point. I oversleep ONE day and you gang up on me…" Finished dressing, he followed the herd, no, he supposed it was a pack to the dining room.

John dispensed a covered mug of coffee and handed it to him. "You sure you're ready to go outside today?"

Scott stifled a yawn. "Of course, I am. Come on, John, we've all worked on short sleep; you especially, to get your star-gazing in. It's no big deal. Just let me get some caffeine in my system and I'll be fine."

Still looking serious, John nodded. "Okay, but if you need a break, take one, will ya?"

Scott settled himself at their regular table. "Of course I will. Now what's for breakfast?"

"The usual," Virgil said glumly. "Your choice of microwaved frozen scrambled eggs, microwaved frozen pancakes or microwaved frozen sausage."

"You forgot the microwaved frozen muffins," Gordon added, taking a bite. "It's gummy," he said indistinctly through a mouthful.

"When I'm up here, I'm going to pack fresh eggs," Alan said softly.

"Better learn how to cook first," Gordon finished his muffin and took a long swig of coffee. "At least the coffee's good."

"Hey, guys," Bob floated over to their table. "How are you doing?"

"We're finishing on the last wedge section," John finished his coffee. "We should be starting on the wiring for the 'stereo' system tomorrow."

"Good. That's better progress than I expected. I was wondering, though," she said with a smile. "I've got a little job that needs doing. I was wondering if Virgil and Scott would be available?"

"What's the job?" Scott asked, finally giving up on breakfast.

She grinned. "Window washing. It's time for the regular maintenance on the station's windows. You'd be spraying a cleaning solution on them, then checking for pits, cracks and breaks in the seal. It's a two-man job, you'd be working on safety lines. You feel up to it?"

Virgil shrugged. Scott caught John's eye and raised an eyebrow. John had expressed his concern about Scott and Virg's skill level in free-fall and he was the commander, after all. After a moment of thought, John nodded. "Okay, we're in," Scott replied. "What do we do?"

"Griff will be helping you get started. Meet him by the lower airlock door. He'll walk you through the first few windows, then go back to his regular job." She eyed the suddenly tense-looking brothers. "Is there a problem? I'd understood you and Griff had made up."

Scott shook himself. "Of course we have," he said. "Virgil and I will be happy to work on the job. Tell Griff we'll be there in a few minutes."

Bob left to return to work, leaving the "Thompsons" to clear their table and suit up. Scott and Virgil were almost to the lower airlock when Virgil stopped. "Damn! I forgot to get the cleaning equipment. I'd better go up and get it. Wait for me at the airlock door?"

Scott grinned. "I think we're both pretty keyed up, Virg. I'll meet you at the door, then. You go ahead and bring the vacuum cleaner or whatever it is."

"Be right back," Virgil waved and headed down the hallway and was soon lost to sight.

Ten minutes later, Virgil had slung the sprayer over a shoulder and arrived back at the lower airlock where a burly space-suited figure waited for him.

"Hi Griff," said Virgil, looking around. "Where's Scott?"

"Isn't he with you?" Griff also looked around. "Nobody was here when I got here. I haven't seen him at all."

"That's strange," Virgil said and keyed the suit-communicator. "Scott? You there?"

He heard nothing but static. He tried again. Still no answer. "Maybe he's back at the room. I'll go get him," Virgil said and went back to their shared room. He found no evidence of Scott. Starting to get worried, he called John. "Johnny, have you got Scott up there with you?"

"No. I thought he was going to clean windows with you?" John answered.

"So did I," Virgil answered. "John, can you check and see if Scott's already outside? I'll look inside the station. There can't be too many places to check. The place isn't that big."

"Okay, I'll get back to you. Maybe he's got a broken radio or something," John said. "I'll get Gordon and Alan on it too."

Forty-five minutes later, Virgil was holding himself together, but only just. He'd had Bob use the all-hands intercom. No Scott. Finally, the space station had been searched in its entirety, both inside and out and no sign of Scott had been found.

"Do we have a shuttle or some other transport to use?" John asked Bob, his face creased with worry. "We need to check the area immediately around the station."

"John, he didn't take any transport away from the station. All the escape pods have been examined and are accounted for and the next cargo shuttle won't be here for a week," Bob said.

"That's not what I meant," John said patiently. "If he went out an airlock, he could be floating in space somewhere. We have to look for him. Virg, how much oxygen did he have on him?"

"Same as me," Virgil replied. "Eight hours' worth."


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Since there were no shuttles at the station, Virgil was left in the office to rent one while his brothers and Bob recharged their oxygen tanks and went outside to search. John insisted that Alan and Gordon pair up in the interests of safety and took Bob with him as his partner. Each group brought binoculars and, using the jets on their suits, looked for any evidence of Scott. They found nothing.

After he'd arranged for the shuttle, Virgil radioed John. "They're delivering it in an hour. In the meantime, I'm going to join you guys outside and look too."

"No, you aren't," said John flatly. "You aren't good enough in a space suit yet and I don't want to lose two of you."

"We haven't lost Scott yet," Virgil shouted into the radio. "And I can't just sit here doing nothing. I've got to help somehow."

John noted that Virgil didn't argue that his skills were up to par. "Look, Virg," John said. "It's not looking too good out here. Stay put and when the shuttle gets here, we'll all go back and conduct a wider search area. In the meantime, maybe you better call Dad."

"And tell him what? We don't know anything yet," Virgil said. "Isn't there some kind of police force out here? We don't know if Griff…well…" He couldn't say 'murdered our brother'.

"There isn't really a police force out here," John replied. "The World Police, I suppose, but space is still too new to have regular patrols. It would take them longer to get out here than for us to search."

"How about Thunderbird Three?" Virgil's voice took on a desperate tone.

"Look, Virgil," John said in a tired voice. "By now Scott is out of our scanning distance. We don't even know which direction to look for him."

"Time's running out," Virgil replied quietly. "Call the rest of the teams and turn them loose out here."

"We don't know who pushed him out the airlock," John found himself wanting to strangle his older brother. "And any one of these teams could make it permanent if they do find him."

"Do we have a choice?" Virgil demanded.

John paused. He noted that Gordon and Alan had broken from their search pattern and were approaching him. "We need to expand the search," Alan said over the radio. "Now. While we can still make a difference."

"All right," John turned to Bob, who had been listening quietly. "Can you and Hank call out the teams?"

"I'll take care of it," she answered.

* * *

><p>16 HOURS LATER<p>

The shuttle had arrived and Alan had piloted it, with Virgil to search. They found nothing, returned to refuel and tried another vector.

John and Gordon led the teams with Hank and Bob coordinating. They found nothing. Finally, over Gordon's furious objections, John broke off the search and called the searchers in.

"We should be out there looking for him, John," Gordon insisted as the airlock cycled. He'd pulled off his helmet at the earliest opportunity; shouting in person was so much more satisfying than doing it over the radio.

John's eyes were lined with red. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Gordy?" John turned to his younger brother. "He's dead by now. His air ran out eight hours ago! We're looking for a corpse, bro."

Gordon was silent, listening to the air cycle in. "We can't just leave him out there," he said, his voice breaking.

John pulled off a glove and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I know. I _know_. But we've been all over the area nearby. We don't even know what direction to search. We've got no proof he was…pushed…For all we know, Scott went out there and made some kind of mistake and couldn't recover…and just floated away…"

Gordon gave John a hard look. "His suit had a radio in it and a GPS, just like ours. He would have called for help if he could. Somebody did this to him."

"Anybody could have done it," John replied. "And electronics have failed before. We still don't know anything." The air finished cycling and they went into the hallway.

Virgil and Alan were waiting for them.

"Don't start shouting at me until we get to our room," John said wearily. He'd never asked to be leader, now it looked like he might be stuck with it permanently. Scott…

The little group was silent until they were in their room with the door shut. Then it started.

"Why did you call everyone in?" Alan demanded. "We could still be out there, maybe finding him!'

"You know my reasons," John insisted. "He's dead by now. He ran out of air hours ago. There's no point in risking lives looking for him now. Scott would be the first person to agree with me!"

"Well, I don't agree," Virgil said quietly. "We don't give up. Ever. And we don't leave one of our own behind."

John spread his empty hands. "Tell me where. Tell me how and I'll be first in line. I'm not the enemy, guys." He moved over to his duffel and began shoving items into it.

"What are you doing?" Gordon asked.

"I'm packing my stuff. Somebody has to tell Dad and it shouldn't be by phone or radio," John went over to Scott's duffel and began slowly to pack Scott's belongings.

"No," Virgil broke in. "Not you, John. Gordon and I are at the end of our thirty day rotation anyway by the end of this week. You two can stay longer. We'll go. You …stay here and try to find out what happened. Scott was auditing the files here; see if he left any notes."

John met Virgil's eyes and a look passed between them. "You're sure?" John asked soberly.

Virgil's eyes were bleak. "Yeah. If he were dead, I'd be the one bringing the body home. I'll go. Just…find out what you can, okay?" He turned to a silent Gordon. "That okay with you?"

"Yeah, I'm coming with you Virg," Gordon wavered a smile at his brothers. "We need to find out from Dad what he wants to do about International Rescue."

That floored them. The thought of International Rescue without Scott in command was unimaginable. Who would pilot Thunderbird One? They were all good pilots, but Scott was…had been…gifted. The brothers exchanged glances until, finally, John drew a breath. "Tell Dad from me, IR should go on, no matter what. Scott wouldn't want us to quit before we've even started."

Alan was nodding. "Doesn't matter who gets One. We shouldn't break up the team. We've worked too hard to stop now. Tell Dad, would you, Virg?"

Virgil agreed. "I'll tell him. Gordy and I will take the shuttle down. We'll be in touch."

Hank, Bob, Alan and John saw off the shuttle with a small crowd of other workers gathered behind them. Everyone knew what had happened and the station was quiet. Finally, Hank dispersed them back to their tasks and the launching bay was empty except for Bob and the two Tracys.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"We keep working," John replied evenly. "International Rescue isn't over yet. I'd like to get access to the material Scott was working on, though. Would that be okay?"

"Sure," Bob said. "I'll show you where he was working." She nodded to John and they went to the Control Center.

Left alone, Alan wandered back to the lounge and looked at the stars. He couldn't stand the thought of eating anything. Since his early childhood, Scott had been his favorite brother, the one who would always listen to him, make time for him. Of course, that also meant getting teased, but he was never mean. He pressed a hand onto the window, knowing that John would scold him for 'smearing' it. All this had happened so fast; just yesterday, he and Gordon had come up with an absolutely great idea for a prank that would really annoy Scott….Not now..He stared blindly at the stars.

* * *

><p>TRACY ISLAND<p>

Jeff Tracy had met his two sons at the landing strip, glad to see them home again at the end of their rotation. When Gordon and Virgil climbed out of the jet, though, he was surprised.

"Where's Scott?" he asked with a smile.

Both sons looked troubled and Virgil took Jeff's arm. "Dad, let's go into your office."

Jeff stopped dead on the tarmac. "Why? What's happened? Is he in jail?"

"I wish he were," Gordon muttered, face turned away.

Virgil glanced around in a panic. This wasn't the place for news like this but Jeff wasn't giving them a choice. Wishing he'd never volunteered for this duty, he cleared his throat and began uncertainly. "Dad, uh…Scott's missing."

Jeff Tracy's heavy brows drew together. "Missing? Where? Have you called the police?"

Gordon came up behind Virgil. "Dad, he's missing from the space station. He was suited up, waiting to go outside the airlock and he just…disappeared. He's not anywhere in the space station. And…and we couldn't find him anywhere outside…" his voice trailed off miserably.

"You looked," Jeff's voice was flat, uncomprehending. "You checked everywhere in the station? Was there a shuttle or other ship docked there at the time? What about his suit radio? Or GPS?"

"No, Dad," Virgil could hear his voice cracking. "Nothing was there. There was no place for him to go but out the airlock. He had eight hours' worth of air and we searched. The entire station was out there looking. We rented a shuttle and looked for hours. We didn't find anything; no signal."

"And you're only telling me this now? When did this happen?" Jeff demanded.

"Yesterday," Virgil said. "Dad…we couldn't just call you with news like this. Gordon and I were due to leave, so we came home. Alan and John are still there, still looking."

Jeff felt his knees giving way beneath him. Both sons caught him, one on either side and walked him to a bench on the path leading up to the house. The three rested silently while their father struggled to recover himself. Finally he said, "Go on up to the house, boys. I think I'd like to spend some time alone here."

Virgil got up, squeezed his father's shoulder, and started climbing the path with a silent Gordon trailing after.

* * *

><p>John sat down at the computer so recently vacated by his brother. He waited for Bob and Hank to leave the office and immediately began typing, bringing up the hidden International Rescue database. He and Brains had designed it and triple encrypted it. Any member of International Rescue could access it and each person had their own databanks within it. But only John and Brains had the master passwords to open all databases within it. He was going to find out why his brother died and had a feeling it was buried somewhere in this system. For all his arguments that Scott's disappearance was merely accidental, he didn't believe it for a minute.<p>

Password keyed in, he focused on all contact Scott had had with the system since their arrival, then began reading the files.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's note: Sorry this chapter is so short. It's been a busy week...

TRACY ISLAND

Jeff eventually came in, his face calm but looking twenty years older. "All right, boys, I want to hear everything," he said firmly. "What do you know about what happened to your brother?"

"That's the problem, Dad," Gordon said sadly. "All we know is that he's gone. Virgil was the last one to see him."

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, Dad. He was supposed to wait for me at the airlock while I got the window cleaning kit. When I got back, Griff was there and Scott had disappeared. We searched the station for Scott, then decided he must have gone outside by himself, but we never found any trace of him."

"There must be more than that," Jeff said, sitting down at his desk. He activated the videophone. "I'm calling John."

John's portrait lit up. He looked tired and even paler than usual. "Hi, Dad," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Not so well, son," Jeff said, face sagging. "I've been talking to Gordon and Virgil about what happened to…your brother." He cleared his throat. "Have you turned up any information on how it happened or why?"

John could be seen glancing around himself. "Nobody in earshot, I guess I can talk." He straightened and his eyes grew icy. "I think I've found out why he was killed."

Virgil and Gordon quickly walked over to the desk. "Killed?" Virgil demanded. "I thought it was an accident."

"Griff. I bet Griff did it," Gordon added, with fists clenched.

"We don't know who. Yet," John sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I found Scott's notes and he was on to something. Money is being funneled from Terra Vista Ventures as well as construction materials. Where they've gone, I can't say, but the books have been altered."

"Did Scott discuss this with Hank or Bob?" Jeff asked.

"There's no indication he did, Father," John replied. "But, in his last note, he said that he was planning to call you to talk about everything the following day. He died before he made the call."

"Somebody figured out what he was doing," Jeff said slowly.

"Is there anything we can do, Johnny?" Virgil asked. "Anything?"

John looked thoughtful. "There were some other discrepancies that Scott found; I don't know how important they are. Now, don't get your hopes up, but he discovered that the station uses much more atmosphere than the specs indicate it should. He felt that either there was a slow leak somewhere, which is more likely, or there was a hidden room that was under pressure. I have his copies of the blueprints, both our originals and the working copy they're building to, but frankly I'm not great at blueprints."

"Send them to me," Virgil spoke softly with burning eyes. "If it's so much as a micron out of true, I'll find it."

"Actually, son, that leads me to the reason for my call," Jeff fiddled with the pen on his desk, then looked up at John. "Come home. I want you and Alan to both come home. This is a time for the family to be together and I don't think it's safe for you to stay up there right now. Besides, we're planning a memorial service for your brother, here on the island. Grandma is flying in and so is Tin-Tin. I want everyone to be here to..to say goodbye." He turned his face away and fell silent.

"We'll come right away," John said. "That'll give me a reason to pry Alan out of that shuttle."

"He's still looking?" Gordon asked.

John shook his head. "He won't stop. He comes back to sleep, then he goes out again. He won't listen to anything I say."

"All right, John," Jeff's voice rang through the room. "If he argues with you, have him call me. You're both coming home, right now, and that includes Alan."

"Yes, Father. I'll tell him," John looked relieved. "And Virg, I'm sending you the complete file with Scott's notes and the blueprints. Father, you'll want to go over the financials."

"You bet I do," Jeff said hoarsely. "I want to see why my son died." 

* * *

><p>With difficulty, John got Alan to return to the space station and pack his things. Only the threat of Father's anger got him moving. The two made their farewells to Hank and Bob.<p>

"I'm so very sorry about what happened," Hank said sadly. "Your brother was a great guy and a good worker. What a thing for your father…"

"Yeah," Bob agreed. "Please give our thoughts and feelings to Jeff, would you?"

"We'll tell him," John replied. They all shook hands, then moved toward the docking bay. On their way, Yonni appeared, followed by the rest of the Berezniki contingent.

"John and Alan," Yonni said, coming forward. "We wish to express our sorrow at what has happened. He was a good friend to me and mine."

"Thank you for your condolences," John shook the hand that was offered, while Alan floated sadly by.

"He will be sorely missed," Yonni replied, then gestured to one of his men. Grigory moved forward with a small box and handed it to Alan. "Here is a loaf of my wife's povititsa for your family. Scott loved it so, we thought to share it with your father."

"Thanks," John said roughly, voice breaking, while Alan turned his face away and packed it into his duffel. "I know Dad will like it."

A few corridors down, they met Griff and his team. John's face went still when he saw them waiting, while Alan got angry. "What does he have to say to us?" Alan hissed to his brother.

"I don't know," John replied softly. "But I sure as hell don't want to hear it."

Griff moved toward them, determination in every muscle. "Uh…John..and Alan, I just want you to know that I'm sorry about your brother and I didn't have anything to do with it."

Alan balled his hands into fists. "You were there, Griff," he said shortly. "Scott was gone and there was only YOU at that airlock."

"I've said it before,' Griff said, voice rising. "There was nobody there when I got there. You want to find a murderer, look somewhere else." Seeing Alan's face getting red and his fists clenched, Griff turned away. His team followed.

John put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Alan, let's go home. Father needs us."

Alan watched Griff and his group moving down the corridor and slowly let his fists uncurl. "All right, Johnny," he sighed and ran a hand over one eye. "Let's get out of here."

They got to the shuttle without any further encounters. By common consent, Alan piloted the shuttle while John sat in thought. Despite what the brothers had decided on hearing of Scott's death, he didn't know what would become of International Rescue. The thought of living on that space station after what had happened to Scott had become abhorrent. And yet, Dad's idea was still as bright and heroic as it had ever been. Maybe he should volunteer to pilot Thunderbird One, try to take Scott's place. He knew that Virgil didn't want command and avoided it whenever possible. He didn't like it either, but he could do it competently. Somebody had to take Scott's place; no, nobody could ever take Scott's place, he reminded himself. But he could try to help, wherever he could.

"John, I'm spotting something…" Alan's voice had an undercurrent of tension.

"What have you got?" John leaned over to see Alan's scanner.

"It's human shaped. It looks like a space suit. I'm changing course and moving toward it," Alan's fingers flickered over the controls in his usual grace. "There. See it?"

John drew in a hard breath. It was a space suited body, floating in the vacuum. "I'll suit up," he said hoarsely. "Maybe..maybe we can bring him home."


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

John floated outside the shuttle, trailing safety line. He wasn't sure what he was hoping. If it was Scott, he could bring him home to the family. But if it wasn't, there was still hope that somehow he'd survived somehow.

As he drew nearer to the space suited body, he began to notice abnormalities about it. It had blue striping like Scott's but the shape was wrong somehow. By the time he was within arms' reach of it, his stomach had fallen. Still, he grabbed it when he could and peered through the helmet to make absolutely, positively certain that what he suspected was true.

His face fell and he let out a long breath. "Alan, I have the suit," he said, holding it by one arm.

"Well?" Alan's voice rose.

"It isn't Scott. The suit is empty. Back in the day, NASA used to throw old space suits out the hatch, assuming they'd burn up on reentry. Somehow this one never did, it just stayed in orbit with the rest of the space junk." He pushed it away. "It's just old junk. I'm coming back in."

With mixed feelings, John opened the airlock hatch and went inside. After the air cycled, he pulled his helmet off and racked it, then made his way to the cockpit where Alan was waiting.

"Are you sure?" Alan asked sadly.

"Yeah. It was an old suit, probably early NASA," John scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. "I think I know what it was. I saw wires through the helmet. One bunch of astronauts wired an old suit with communications equipment so that it sent a signal to the ground. They called it a suit-satellite, or the suit-sat. It stopped sending after a couple weeks and everybody assumed it had burned up in the upper atmosphere. I guess it stayed in orbit with the other junk."

"Oh," Alan turned forward again. "I'll reset course for home, then."

"It was a lot to hope for," John reminded him. "Even if it had been him…"

"Yeah, I get that," Alan said, face turned away. "But at least we'd _know_. It's the not knowing that hurts the most."

Despite the diversion, they arrived home in good time. Gordon was waiting on the tarmac for them. As the two fumbled in the unaccustomed gravity, he smiled and moved in between them, grabbing them by the arms. "You two look like a couple of staggering drunks," he commented.

"Yeah, well you try a month and a half in orbit," Alan muttered, allowing Gordon to prop him up.

"He did," John commented, arm around Gordon's shoulders. "But it's good having a brother holding me up. I can use it about now."

The three walked slowly up to the villa.

* * *

><p>The memorial service was quiet and attended only by family and immediate household. They held it in Kyrano's tropical flower garden near Scott's favorite hibiscus bushes. Tin-tin was in tears. Grandma was stoic; she'd seen death before. Virgil wasn't sure how the brothers held it together, probably because Father was so tight-lipped. When the preacher from the mainland finished the final prayer, they laid flowers at the base of the small stone monument they'd put there. Virgil put down his flower and gently ran a hand over the monument before turning away. Although there was a small buffet in the house, he wandered down to the beach and sat down, letting the sunshine wash over him. He'd always been close to his older brother, so close they were almost like twins. Not having Scott around was like missing a limb. No, it was a big, gaping hole in the middle of his soul. He bleakly watched the surf wash in and out. It was a beautiful day; the kind of day that Scott used to love. He'd run on the beach or surf, throwing himself into the ocean without a care in the world.<p>

"Want some company?" a familiar voice asked. Virgil looked up to find John standing next to him. He'd changed out of his suit and was wearing a floral shirt, baggy shorts and sneakers.

"Sure," Virgil answered, patting the sand next to him. "Have a seat."

John sat down, knees to chest and watched the ocean silently with Virgil for a while. Virgil finally broke the silence. "Alan told me about the space suit. I'm still not sure how I feel about that."

"I know," John picked up a pebble and threw it toward the surf. "But…I'm glad I didn't find him. If I had, I'd still be having nightmares about it."

"Come on, it would have been Scott!" Virgil picked up his own pebble and tossed it. "How bad could it be?"

"Bad enough," John gave extra force to his next pebble. "I just keep wondering what happened." He was silent again.

"I've started working on the blueprints, but it's slow work. I don't want to miss anything," Virgil found a bigger stone and threw it with force. "You don't think he could still be alive, do you?"

"I don't think it's likely," John threw his own rock, gritting his teeth and heaving as hard as he could. "It just doesn't make sense! It's just a damned space station. So they're siphoning money. It happens all the time. It's no reason to kill…"

"They thought it was," Virgil replied softly, digging his hand into the sand. "You know, I always used to think that if Scott died, I'd know it somehow. We were that close, y'know? But…nothing. There's nothing."

"Dad's…not doing well," John said after a long silence.

"Well, can you expect him to? Scott was going to run International Rescue, command it from the field. Every plan Dad ever had centered on Scott: primary pilot, field commander, you name it. Face it, Scott was the best of us. The smartest, most athletic, best pilot…damn, I used to envy how easily it all came to him." Virgil looked up at the blue sky with watery eyes.

"You think he didn't envy your musical ability?" John snorted. "Scott could carry a tune in a bucket, just about. You could sit down and play broadway tunes and sing them, then paint a masterpiece. He told me once that he felt like an uncivilized philistine next to you. Said he could understand a painting that looked like something, say whether a dog looked like a dog. But he never could get anything abstract that you just took a look at and *boom* you got it. He knew he wasn't 'deep'."

"He didn't need to be," Virgil pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "We'll never find out now what kind of commander he'd have been."

"A good one," said John. "He'd have been a good one."

* * *

><p>ON THE SPACE STATION<p>

Scott woke up with a pounding headache, floating freely in a lit room. He pried his eyes open and saw a ceiling filled with wiring and electronics inches from the end of his nose. He tried to grab at the ceiling and push himself down with his right hand, but he couldn't move it for some reason. He tried again and realized, from the rattling sound, that his wrist was chained to a pipe down below. He used the wrist as leverage, pulled himself halfway down the wall and scanned the room. It wasn't familiar, but it was abundantly clear to him that he hadn't left microgravity. Some kind of ship?

The room was perfectly square with walls covered in piping and more electronics. A lamp clamped to the far wall and out of reach provided the light. A small zero-gravity toilet was conveniently near his chain, as was a water bottle hanging from the pipe next to his wrist. The room itself couldn't have been more than seven feet square and looked more like part of a maintenance shaft than anything else. He craned his neck and looked all around but didn't see anything that looked like an exit. For a terrifying moment he wondered if he'd been walled in. Then he realized that someone had gone to the trouble of giving him sanitary facilities, water and pressure. Whoever it was meant to keep him here for a while. Okay, what was the last thing he remembered…? Ow. Head hurt, neck hurt, stomach hurt. He reached for the bottle of water and found several barf bags hung on the wall. He also saw a scabbed-over bruise on his right upper arm. He ran his left hand over his arm, noticing the size of the bruise. Somebody had stuck him with a long needle.

He searched his muzzy recollections. He'd been waiting at the airlock door for Virgil, holding his helmet in hand, when he'd felt a sharp pain in his arm. He was out before he finished turning around.

Wait a minute, he wasn't in his space suit. He was in his cooling undergarment, with feet and hands bare. These people were good. Probably professionals. But why? Hold him for ransom as a Tracy? Nobody on the station was supposed to know their real last names, except for Hank and Bob. Ditto for the International Rescue connection. Or maybe it had nothing to do with either reason. He'd found evidence, damning evidence of embezzlement but hadn't figured out who was stealing. Maybe the people who knocked him out thought he had. Great. Just great.

How much time had passed? Dammit, he wasn't wearing the new communicator watch Brains had come up with. Watches didn't fit on the wrist under the space suits because of the tight wrist joint. They'd relied on the suit-radio with its multiple channels to communicate. Probably why he didn't have the suit right now. He tugged at the chain in frustration, but the pipe wasn't going anywhere. Only one thing left to do.

"Help!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Help! Get me out of here!"

* * *

><p>MUCH LATER<p>

He sipped sparingly from the water bottle. There was no idea when somebody would come to refill it, if they did. His voice was hoarse from calling, but nobody had heard him. He hadn't heard any movement at all. He was reminded that sound doesn't move in a vacuum and wondered just where he was. Again, he considered the possibility that he'd been loaded into some kind of escape pod and just launched into space. Abruptly, the walls started to close in and the air didn't seem so fresh anymore. He mentally squelched down the panic and forced himself to think logically. Why would they dump him? Okay, he could see why. They thought he knew something. But why dump him in a pressurized container just to let him die slowly? They could just as easily kill him and toss him; a good push was all it would take. And why put him in a container with so much wiring on the inside. It all looked pretty new. He began to examine the walls of the container…no, it was a ROOM, room, room. Container meant dead. It was a room.

He had reached no conclusions before he began to get drowsy and drifted off to sleep. When he woke, who knew when, the light still shone, the air was still circulating, his water bottle was still half-empty. He used the facilities and focused on trying to loosen or break the chain. All he got for that was a bruised wrist. The shackle was too tight to slip his hand through. The pipe was solid and because of free-fall he had no leverage to force it away from the wall. Wait a minute, maybe he did. He planted both feet on the wall and began to pull on the chain. Several sweaty minutes later he gave up. No good.

He tried calling for help again but hear no answer and nobody came. He was starting to get hungry and began to wonder whether he'd been left here forever. Give a man a toilet to minimize mess and let him die of thirst and hunger. Even the smell of decomposition wouldn't carry in the vacuum. Stop. Wait a minute, Tracy. This line of thought isn't helpful. Can't give up. You have four brothers on this station and you know they're looking for you. They won't give up. That stubbornness that used to drive you crazy when they were kids is pushing them now. They're out there. "Help! Let me out of here! Somebody help!"

When his voice got hoarse and dry, he stopped and sipped some water. It was running out and soon there would be none. Nobody was out there, nobody heard him or knew where he was. He had to figure out some way out of this room, wherever it was.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

TRACY ISLAND

The family gathered for a late dinner by common consent. Gordon had spent the afternoon swimming, not in the pool, but in the surf. When Jeff asked why he didn't use his usual Olympic sized pool, he answered softly, "I want something to fight against." Jeff had to admit that he understood.

There were eight people around the table at dinner with Kyrano serving, but Jeff felt like the room was empty. Even his sons were being remarkably well-behaved. Nobody was snatching for the last dinner roll, there was no sarcastic commentary about someone else's eating habits. Virgil wasn't even doodling fuel usage equations on his napkin. This had to end.

"Boys," Jeff began. "Scott's gone and we can't bring him back, but he wouldn't want us to give up our lives to grief." He looked over his remaining sons and sighed. "And I'm the first person to admit that too much grief is pointless. We've said our goodbyes. It's time to start work again."

"Maybe you've said yours, Father, but I'm not ready yet," Alan looked up fiercely from his plate. "I want to find the people who killed him. When are you calling the World Police?" He looked at his father's still face. "You are going to call them, aren't you?"

Alan, Gordon and Virgil all sat upright, stares like laser-beams at their father. "Well?" Virgil asked.

"We can't allow there to be any connection between the Tracy family and International Rescue," Jeff explained carefully, his face troubled. "When that hotel goes bust, it becomes Thunderbird Five, don't forget that. When Scott's death becomes public knowledge, the place he died will be swarmed with the press and won't be easily forgotten."

There was a long silence as each Tracy son took this in.

"You…you want to cover this up?" demanded John, voice low and dangerous. "You want us to pretend that we didn't just lose a brother?" He gave a scornful laugh. "What do you take us for?"

"Dad, Scott has…had… friends who need to know what happened to him," Virgil added gently, his voice shaking. "You can't just hide it." He put a hand on John's shoulder. "I..I don't think we can just go on, pretending that Scott's alive somewhere." Virgil looked lost for a moment. "And, Father, if International Rescue is going forward, we have to make decisions. We need a field commander and I…I… can't replace Scott. I'm sorry, but I can't fill his shoes."

Jeff Tracy bowed his head and was silent for several minutes. His sons looked at each other, listening to Tin-Tin's sniffles at the end of the table and the soft sound of Grandma weeping. Gordon pushed his untouched plate aside. "Scott wouldn't want us fighting among ourselves. I agree that we need a pilot for Thunderbird One. International Rescue must go on, or what did Scott die for?" He hesitantly looked at each of his brothers. "I'm not the oldest, or the smartest but I do know this. If Scott could hear you right now, he'd be threatening each of us with mayhem for fighting with Dad. He'd understand why we can't mourn publicly, at least not yet." He ran a hand through his red hair, sheer misery on his face. "And I've got a suggestion. Why not have John and Alan double up on Thunderbird One? Whoever isn't on Thunderbird Five is piloting Thunderbird One. I can cross-train and be backup on both. I'm good in free-fall and, while I'm a better aquanaut than pilot, I can keep Thunderbirds One and Three in the air."

"Who commands?" Alan asked. "Scott was the only one who could make us all listen..at least, most of the time."

John's face fell. "I'm sorry, Father. I had no right." Virgil looked sad. "I'm sorry too. I know we'll work it all out."

"Sons," Jeff's voice cracked, then he cleared his throat. "I know that I can depend on you. And you're right, Virgil, we'll work it out; maybe rotate command. The important thing is that we carry on what we started. And to that end, I'd like to propose a toast." He lifted his untouched glass of wine and the rest of the family followed suit. "To Scott. The first and the best pilot of International Rescue."

They clinked their glasses and repeated, "To Scott!"

After the meal, Virgil quietly slipped out of the house and back to the beach. To his surprise, he was followed first by Alan, then by Gordon and John. Virgil looked over his shoulder as they came up to stand next to him. John grabbed Virgil in a one-armed hug and Gordon with the other arm. Alan moved in to close the circle. They stood together wordlessly, watching the sun set. "We still have brothers," finally, Virgil said. "We can do this. We can still do this."

"We will," John put his head down and closed his eyes.

"Yes, we can," Alan nodded, eyes worried. "I'm in," Gordon finished, looking determined.

Tracy Enterprises put out a news release announcing that the eldest son and heir of billionaire Jeff Tracy had disappeared while scuba diving and was presumed dead. The family were incommunicado while in mourning. 

* * *

><p>TERRA VISTA HOTEL<p>

Scott shook the bottle, noticing that there wasn't more than a tablespoon or two left. He was hungry, too He rubbed his hand across his unshaven face, listening to the rasping noise.. . He had no idea how long he'd been here, but he'd bet it had been a couple of days at least. Shouting didn't do any good; it just made his throat dry and he needed to hoard the water since he didn't know when he'd get any more. If he'd get any more. Bleakly, he began to realize that he'd been left to die here.

There had to be some way out. He looked at all the wiring surrounding him. He could pull something loose and hopefully somebody would come to repair the fault. Or, he considered, he could inadvertently shut down life support and kill himself. After a few minutes thought he decided that at this point he had no real choice. Whoever had chained him here wasn't coming back. He paused and reached out at random, pulling several connections amid a shower of sparks. The lamp flickered, but nothing else happened so he set himself to wait.

He wondered what had happened to his brothers. Were they still on the station? Did they think he was dead? His stomach plummeted and he suddenly knew that they did. They must. He'd been in a space suit, incidentally stocked with water and food, when he'd disappeared from the lower airlock area. Of course they thought he was dead. What would they have done? They would have searched the station and found nothing. They would have searched space around the station, looking for his body. And when they didn't find it? Dad would have called them home. Oh my god…what Father must be thinking…He'd collapsed when Mom died. And now? He had to get out of here!

While he was contemplating disaster, a small door at the bottom of the shaft rattled and opened. A man in a jumpsuit carrying a toolkit opened the door, then came in, fastening it shut behind him.

The man looked up at Scott, bound on the opposite end of the room, and smiled.

Scott grinned with profound relief. "Yonni!"

The Berezniki smiled up at Scott and climbed up to where he was chained. "It is good to see you, Scott," he said.

"Yonni," Scott held up his right wrist. "Do you have anything that will cut this? Get me loose!"

Yonni kept smiling as the door below opened again and a second man appeared. It was Grigory. He closed the door, but remained near it, frowning heavily.

Scott noted that Yonni had placed himself out of reach and suspicion began to dawn. "Yonni?"

"I am sorry, Scott," Yonni said. "I was called away to the surface and only just returned. Grigory was supposed to give you food and water during my absence. He admits that he did not." Here, Yonni glared down at his compatriot. "Grigory wanted to kill you at once, but you are a friend and I wouldn't agree. I see that he tried to take the decision away from me."

Scott paled. "So, what are your plans for me? You going to push me out the airlock now?"

"No," Yonni replied, opening his tool box and removing a fresh bottle of water and a sandwich. He set them in the air and pushed them towards Scott. "It was always my plan to keep you here until we are finished and then let you go."

"And what is it that you have to finish?" Scott asked helplessly, hoping with all his heart that Yonni didn't know about International Rescue. "It's a hotel."

"No, my friend, it is not," Yonni replied. "It is a platform in space whose orbit crosses over Bereznik twice a day. It is also a weapon that can free my country from the tyranny of the invaders."

"You're going to crash the satellite down on top of them?" Scott's eyes opened wide at the thought.

"No. We're going to fire on the capital city of Bereznik and raze Katania to the ground. In the chaos, our troops will deploy and win freedom for our land." Yonni floated over to the far wall of the room and fiddled with a small panel, freeing a set of switches. He threw one and the entire wall moved away, showing a half-filled rack of missiles. 

* * *

><p>TRACY ISLAND<p>

The days following were quiet ones. Everyone was conscious of disaster barely averted. Brains went back to work on the new Thunderbird machines with assistance from the Tracy sons. Virgil, however, worked late into the night going over the space station blueprints, determined to find any discrepancy. John did the same, preparing a detailed synopsis for Jeff of all the financial peculiarities.

On the second night after Scott's memorial service, John heard a shout from Virgil's suite of rooms and came at a run. Virgil was sitting at his computer, swearing at the top of his lungs.

"You bastards! You goddamned bastards! You faked the whole damned thing!..." Virgil was shouting at his computer screen.

"Virg? What is it?" John rushed into Virgil's room and looked over his shoulder. Virgil had overlain the original blueprints over the working set, showing actual construction. The two were out of sync, showing a seven by seven foot gap in the lower ring of the space station.

"What on earth..?" John looked closely at the discrepancy and ran a forefinger over the lines.

"Here's your overuse of oxygen, Johnny," Virgil's face held a hopeful smile. "They built a room. I don't know who did it, but there's a secret room in the space station. Somehow they rerouted all the wiring, all the components and built this."

"But what's it for?" John asked. "They'd have to either modify the pre-fab components at the factory or remake them in orbit to achieve this. We have to get Dad."

Jeff Tracy arrived, tying his bathrobe. "Now, just what is this?" he asked blearily.

"Look," said John, pointing to the room. "This isn't in the original plans. All the original mechanics have been rerouted around this open space and it's been fully pressurized. And it has a hatch to space here," John pointed. "Like an airlock, there are two seals, one here," he pointed to the door to the room. "And another, at the hatch."

Tracy immediately perked up. "Now that's interesting. I wonder what it's for? It's nothing I planned for Thunderbird Five, that's for sure. We'd better double-check with Brains before we get all excited, though."

After the plans had been run past Brains, the consensus was that somebody had altered the plans for reasons of their own. The only way to find out would be to go there.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

* * *

><p>SPACE STATION<p>

Scott drank the water Yonni offered him and finished off the sandwich as slowly as possible. He needed time to think. Of all the possible kidnappers, Yonni was bottom of the list. Scott had detected no lies in the man. He had to know. "Yonni, why? Why put me in here? I thought we were friends."

"And so we are, Scott," Yonni replied with a serious expression. "Unfortunately, my loyalty to my country must come first. When we discovered that you were studying the accounting records and the blueprints for the station, we knew we were in trouble. Grigory," he gestured to his friend. "Wanted to kill you immediately."

Scott glanced down at a sullen-looking Grigory, who glared right back and muttered, "It was a good idea, too!"

"Hush, Grigory! In any case, you lost the vote!" Turning back to Scott, Yonni went on. "The other members of my cell, Bogdan, Piotr, Mikhail and Ivan, they all like you. We agreed that you will be kept here as a prisoner until we have fired the missiles. Then we will release you." Yonni looked at him closely. "I do not think that you are just a construction student…but there is no time to find out just what you are."

"Wait a minute, Yonni," Scott exclaimed. "Don't you realize that if you fire from here, the space station will be targeted for return fire! It'll be destroyed within minutes."

Yonni shrugged sadly. "We will be on the earth, triggering the missiles by remote control. Anyone on the station may be killed, but this is the best we can do for you, Scott. You will have a chance, which is more than Grigory would have offered you. We had hoped to do all this after the hotel went bankrupt and was vacated."

"So, you're trying to drive the Hotel into bankruptcy?" Scott began moving toward Yonni, hoping to get within reach…

"It was already going that direction," Yonni scoffed. "We merely helped it along. The extra money and supplies have also helped to fund our country's freedom; a noble enterprise." He turned away and gestured toward Grigory. "I have some food for you in case I cannot be here to feed you, and some water." He hung two draw-string bags within Scott's reach and quickly backed away.

"Can't you at least do something for me?" Scott asked desperately, one eye on Grigory. "Look, my family probably thinks I'm dead. Can't you, please… at least let them know I'm okay? My Dad must be devastated."

"As are your brothers," Yonni backed toward the door, easing past Grigory. "You are much loved. They searched days for you, both in the station and outside. But I can tell them nothing, they have left the station. Your father called them home for a family memorial. And in any case, I would be endangering my own mission if I told anyone about you."

Scott closed his eyes against the turmoil of emotions: rage, sadness, frustration, worry…abandonment. _No, they wouldn't leave me unless they were certain I was dead. But they think I am dead, so they aren't looking any more._

"I am sorry, Scott," Yonni broke the silence. "I had hoped that you could be a comrade in arms, but it isn't possible. I would also advise you not to pull any more wires; we are the official repair crew in any case. Grigory will remain to make repairs on this one, but should you do it again, there will be consequences."

Scott opened his eyes to see Grigory grinning up at him while Yonni closed the door behind him.

Grigory climbed into the room and secured his tool-box out of Scott's reach. "You are lucky that Yonni was able to convince the others to keep you alive. I argued that you are not what you seem to be,' Grigory eyed him up and down. "You are too fit to be a space man; too much muscle tone for a life spent in zero gravity. And you are too educated. You got deep into our records, as did your brother. He's lucky that they all left so soon or you would have company in here." He turned to the control panel. "Or you'd both be dead by now and no longer a problem." He began working.

"When will it be? This attack?" Scott asked, trying to gauge the distance between himself and Grigory.

Grigory snorted. "It will be when Yonni gives the order. He is our commander and has contact with our superiors. We are ready now, but cannot fire until the moment is politic. We expect that the World Government will support our action, since we will immediately apply for membership and will not be a rogue state like Bereznik."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You don't get it, do you? I'm on your side. I saw the devastation the war wrought throughout Bereznik, the suffering people, the disease. I want to help, and I have the finances to do it."

"I understand that," Grigory snipped a wire. "And I am glad. But the fact remains that I do not trust you and this may be my country's only chance for freedom. If you were my only brother, I would react the same. It is…not personal." He turned around and began securing tools back into his kit. "I have lived under tyranny too long. You are American, yes? You understand revolutions, don't you? Patrick Henry and Paul Revere..the Boston Massacre?" He sighed. "Too bad you got in the way. But if you do not cause trouble, we will leave you here and you will have more chance for life than my family ever did in the war." He began to move toward the exit door.

As he passed, Scott took his chance and reached his legs out in a scissor, grabbing Grigory by the waist and pulling him in. He wrapped the chain around Grigory's throat and tried to grab for the toolkit. Maybe there was something in the kit that could cut the chain…

Grigory twisted viciously and swung the tool case at Scott's head, making contact above his left ear, then pulled back and hit him again. Scott felt the world disappear and fell back, trying to fight his way back to consciousness. Grigory scooted away from his prisoner and rummaged in the toolkit, securing it out of the other man's reach. He pulled out a long monkey wrench, wedged himself against a wall and began furiously raining down blows on the other man.

Despite his best efforts at defending himself, Scott knew he was at a disadvantage with one hand chained down. Dammit, he couldn't move! He got a few good licks in by jamming himself against the wall and kicking as hard as he could, but Grigory had a longer reach and a weapon. Braced against the side wall, Grigory had a good swing and had already landed a hard blow onto Scott's only free arm, held across his body in defense; he hoped it wasn't broken. The struggle continued until Grigory dropped the wrench and wrapped his hands around his prisoner's neck and began to choke. Slowly the pressure increased despite all Scott could do to throw the man off. No air…he heard a pounding in his ears. Then there was nothing at all.

A few minutes later, Scott floated in a white sky, full of bright light and pain. It was hard to breathe somehow and he could feel something sticky drying on his face. Someone pushed him hard against a wall and his body thumped against metal, then bounced back to be stopped by a tug on his arm. He heard a door slam, then silence and more whiteness.

* * *

><p>TRACY ISLAND<p>

"Are you sure?" Jeff Tracy asked anxiously, facing his remaining sons. "I agree that this should be investigated, but I don't want to endanger any more of you."

Alan, body held tensely, spoke for the group. "We can't _not_ go, Dad. Don't you see, there's a pressurized room up there. Scott might, just might be in it. We have to go and check it out."

"And besides," Virgil added. "We still need to work on the artificial gravity system. Once we get that installed, we can declare the hotel bankrupt and send everyone dirtside. Let the cops have the accounting data; they can finish the investigation and figure out who stays in custody. We can take our time doing the finishing work if we don't have to cycle downside so often."

Jeff simply gave his sons a sad smile. "You don't need to convince me, son. You want to look for Scott. All right, go. But be careful, will you?"

John pulled a canvas case over his shoulder and unfastened the top, displaying the contents. "We're bringing firearms, Dad. We won't be caught out."

The shuttle ride was subdued. Finally Virgil broke the silence. "Are you sure you don't want to tell Hank about the extra room?"

John, in the co-pilot's seat, turned to look at Virgil behind him. "We don't know who's behind all this, Virg. For all we know, it's Hank and Bob. They can't know that we've found out about the room."

"Not to mention the weapons," Alan chimed in from the pilot's seat. "Besides, if we telegraph our moves, we could endanger Scott, assuming he's in that room."

"Gordy, what do you think?" Virgil nudged Gordon, in the seat next to him. Gordon had been quiet the entire trip.

"I don't know, guys. I just don't know," Gordon said quietly. "I have to agree with John for now. While we could use all the backup we can get, at this point we just don't know who our friends are." He glanced out the window at the stars. "Do you really think Scott might still be alive?"

"I sure hope so," John replied.

* * *

><p>SPACE STATION<p>

Hank met the Tracy brothers at the airlock. "I'm glad to see you again," he said, reaching out a hand for the luggage. John handed him some of the duffels but retained the weapons. "I hope the memorial went well," Hank said.

The brothers exchanged looks but John spoke for them all. "It was..a nice memorial. Scott would have liked it. We want to get to work as soon as possible, Hank. "

Hank nodded and led them back to their room. "All right. You're going to work on that wiring project, I take it? I'll leave you to it, then."

Once the door closed, John reached into the canvas duffle and handed around firearms. "Keep them hidden and don't use them unless you have to. And remember, we don't know our friends from our enemies up here. The only ones we can trust absolutely are each other."

Virgil tucked the gun into his waistband and tugged down his shirt to cover. "Who's on the search team and who's window-dressing?"

John looked regretful. "Well, if we're doing real work, I guess Alan and I should do it. We've got experience, at least. How about it, Al?"

Alan flashed a rueful smile. "I can't argue with the truth. All right, let's go set up."

Gordon and Virgil grinned back. "The instant we find anything, we'll let you know," Virgil said as he and Gordon moved toward the door.

Alan and John, carrying equipment, pulled up and secured the deck plating in the area where they expected to find the room. Gordon and Virgil began inspecting every door, every plate surrounding the hallway access, while Alan and John began the installation process. Whenever someone from the station came near their work area, all four could be seen working diligently on the project.

Several hours went by and they'd almost covered the area that Virgil had marked on the blueprints. They were beginning to get discouraged, when Gordon tapped a plate and it loosened. "Virg, come look at this!"

Virgil came over and pressed against the panel, finding that it was held in place by only two screws where it should have had eight. "I think this might be it," he said, reaching for his screw-driver. They removed the two screws and found that the panel had a hidden hinge allowing it to swing outward. Opening the door, they found a long maintenance tube beyond. Virgil turned on his hand-light, checked his pistol and looked up the well. "I'll go on in. Gordy, go get the others and you guys follow me."

"Hey," Gordon grabbed his sleeve. "Be careful, okay?"

"Oh yeah," Virgil said absently, squinting up the tunnel, then began to clamber in.

As soon as he was in the tunnel, Gordon propped the door closed and removed any evidence of their presence there, then made his way back to his brothers. One significant look was all it took for them to put their tools away and follow him back at top speed.

Virgil climbed the access tunnel until he found another door at the end. He carefully pulled it open an inch or two, finding that it was lit on the other side. He put the flashlight away and pulled his gun, then opened it wider. He was at the bottom of a long, narrow room, about seven feet tall, covered with electronics. He looked up and saw…"Oh my God!" he said softly and grabbed any handhold that offered to take him up to the man floating there.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Scott floated in the white sky, his head aching and left arm matching it throb for throb. He'd eaten some of the food Yonni brought and had drunk the water, then drifted off again. He woke later to find the supplies replenished and was disturbed that he'd slept through the whole thing. He'd completely lost track of time; not surprising. He listened to the soft hiss of the air system, grateful that at least the Bereznikis hadn't opened the airlock and disposed of him like Grigory undoubtedly wanted. Of course, being in this room on the back end of the missiles' back-blast wasn't appealing either. He closed his eyes and drifted away despite himself.

He knew he was sleeping too much but there wasn't much of anything else to do. If he died here, it would be all the same to the rest of the world. With this thought he pulled himself up short. He supposed he was the next best thing to a prisoner of war. What was a POW's first duty? Escape. Okay, try to think about it again, run through the options. Already tried the attack-your-jailer method and that didn't work so well. Tried the pull-a-wire-and-let-the-rest-of-the-world-know-I'm-here ploy. Nope. That resulted in the hurt- your- arm-and-get-the-crap-beat-out-of-you result. He sighed and wished that just once he could turn that blasted overhead light off.

Another visit, from Ivan and Bogdan this time. Another bag of food and more water. Ivan wouldn't talk and kept out of arms reach while Bogdan hung the supply bags. Okay, at least they weren't going to starve him to death; maybe he wasn't going to die. At least, not immediately.

He thought about Dad and his brothers. What were they doing right now? Pina coladas and margaritas on the patio? He still remembered when Alan went through that sangria kick. He'd been reading up on the 1970's era when that was apparently the drink. He'd actually researched and found a recipe, then whipped up a batch. The stuff was horrible, but they'd all pretended to like it so that Alan's feelings wouldn't be hurt. He smiled, remembering the pained look on John's face when he took the first sip. Mr. fine liquor connoisseur…troubled by the taste of Kool-Aid mixed with bad wine. Or funnier yet, when Gordon and Alan had decided to make their own root beer. They were all still living in Kansas and the two had diligently poured their own secret mixture into bottles and capped them, then waited impatiently for the stuff to become drinkable.

The first explosion was a surprise. The fourth, fifth and sixth were overkill. The sight of Gordon and Alan down in the basement cleaning up the mess of fermented root beer had been hilarious-until Grandma had dragooned him and Virgil to help. He shook his head, remembering. Somehow John always disappeared when there was a messy cleanup going on. His brother had a catlike talent for always being scrubbed and fresh when the rest of his brothers were filthy, smelly and disgusting. Nobody said anything that night when Father, home from work on time for once, commented about the funny smell in the farmhouse.

He had to find a way out of here, the thought pounded through his mind yet again. Try the attack-the-jailer again? Got no choice…Next meal call. He'd pretty much figured out that they brought food and water every other day but always at staggered times. He eyed the level in the last water bottle—he was due for a refill. He began to wait. 

* * *

><p>His next visitor was Yonni, all alone. Good. "So, did you bring me some povititsa?" Scott asked as pleasantly as he could.<p>

"Not this time," Yonni answered cheerfully. "I have sandwiches, more convenient. And some chocolate chip cookies that my wife made. I gave you the lion's share and didn't tell the guys you were getting them."

"Yonni," Scott tried yet again. "You know that this is ridiculous. I'm a friend; I support your cause. I have rich and connected friends; I can arrange political and financial support for you."

Yonni eyed him with gleaming eyes. "I know that you must, although I still don't know who you really are. Share that and maybe we can talk."

Scott took in a deep breath. Tell Yonni he was a Tracy and potentially imperil the whole thing before it had even begun…? No. Too risky. "I'm sorry, Yonni, you'll just have to take me at my word. But can't you trust me? I can give you a number to call. Tell my family where I am and I promise they'll arrange for more support than you ever imagined."

Yonni was silent a moment. "I'd like to believe you, my friend, but I simply can't afford it. My cause is greater than I am and I can't chance it."

"All right, then," Scott said with a disarming smile. "We'll agree to disagree. Say, Yonni, the water's kind of hard to reach. Could you move it in closer this time?"

"Oh, of course," Yonni said and floated in to secure the bag nearer to his prisoner. Scott grimace and swung his left arm and hit Yonni with a blow that shook his arm up to the shoulder. At the same time he felt a snapping sensation and knew he'd really done it this time. Damn. He grabbed at a stunned Yonni with his legs and pulled him in close, searching for the key to his shackle. Yonni, realizing that his prisoner was about to get away, kicked himself out of the way and retaliated with a series of punches and, before he pulled himself out of reach, kicked his prisoner on the side of the head.

Panting, Yonni floated out of reach and noted that Scott had stopped fighting. Good. The attack would be soon, in any case. Basic humanity could only go so far, and he would be glad to be rid of this troublesome prisoner. 

* * *

><p>Scott floated again, only this time it was dark. Gradually, the world became gray and then white with noises in it.<p>

He heard an unintelligible voice talking to him but decided that if it was more political cant from Yonni that he wasn't interested. Fingers softly ran over his head, focusing on the bumps and bruises.

"Yeah, he's gotten a couple of good knocks on the head…good thing he's got a hard skull…" He felt the hands pull at his right arm and another set manipulating his left, no make that two sets of hands on his left side and felt something plastic slide up his arm. Some old memory said 'inflatable splint' and the voice said "eyes are open a bit…semi-conscious…Scotty? Are you in there? Sc...broken arm too…how are you doing Gordon…got the chain off yet..?"

"…finished…." Said a soft voice and his right arm swung free for the first time in days.

"….smelling salts…." Said the first voice.

A young, somehow blond sounding one replied…"….gonna hate that…."

The first voice said, "….it, he can complain later…."

He smelled something awful and spasmodically gulped a big breath of air, feeling the drowsy whiteness go away while his arms and legs flailed.

"Ow!" He heard a loud cry as his leg hit something and pushed it into the opposite wall. His eyes opened and the room wasn't white anymore; it had people in it. Four of them. He blinked, then broke into the biggest grin of his life.

"Virgil! Man, I'm so glad to see you! Sorry I kicked you! Are you okay? And..um..I'm sorry I hit you so low, too."

Virgil, floating there holding himself, just beamed back. "It's fine, Scott. Just glad to have you back!" he croaked.

Virgil was pushed to one side and soon Scott was surrounded by brothers pounding on his back and shoulders (gently). He couldn't make out the words until John spoke loudly over Alan and Gordon, "….got to get you out of here before they come back!"

Immediately there was silence as they all realized the danger they were in. "John's right," Scott said. "We've got to get out of here, but fast!"

"Back to the room," John decided. "Virg? Do you have the space blanket from the first aid kit? Good, let's drape it over Scott's head. If we meet anybody, we'll tell 'em he's Alan and he's drunk."

"Gee thanks," Alan commented sourly from the back.

John slung Scott's right arm over his shoulder and motioned for Gordon to hold Scott's waist on the other side. "Okay, we are helping our intoxicated brother back to our room." John turned to Virgil and Alan. "You go the other way and meet us at the room. Nobody admits we found Scott until we get the story from him," John eyed his 'drunk' brother. "Assuming he's up to talking."

"I'm fine," Scott insisted, then found himself wanting to throw up. Badly. "Virg…got a"

"Here," a barf bag was shoved into his good hand just in time for Scott to make use of it. After he'd used the bag, he hung there panting then heard a crinkling sound near his nose. Propping one eye open, he saw a hopeful Virgil holding a packet of ginger. "Want some?"

"No!" Scott gulped and finished off the barf bag. "We gotta get out of here.."

Virgil gave him a clean bag and they slowly moved him toward the doorway. The last thing he heard before he left the room was Alan complaining, "I don't know why you always assume that I'm going to be the drunk one!"

Within ten minutes they had all gathered in their bedroom. Scott 'sat' at their small table with a bottle of water, gratefully sipping at it while his brothers waited with various degrees of impatience for him to tell his story. "Look, Scott," Virgil finally said. "Do you want me to hook up an IV? Then you can talk and drink at the same time."

"Sorry, Virg," Scott said, regretfully holding the water bottle away from his mouth and capping it. "It's just that things like food and water have been scarce since they got me. How long has it been, anyway?"

"Yeah, I suppose you wouldn't have any idea of time," Virgil mused. "No mealtimes, no watch, constant light…Wow…Well, it's been about a week since you went missing."

Scott frowned. "That long… Well, I knew it had to be a long time," he smiled and ran a hand over his beard.

"I've got my electric razor if you want it," Virgil offered with a grin. "You know how disreputable you look with a beard. But not until you tell what happened."

"Okay," Scott got serious. "I was waiting at the airlock for you, Virg, when I felt a sharp pain, then nothing. They stuck me with a hypodermic and had me out in seconds. I woke up later, chained in that room with a bit of water and that was it. I didn't see anyone for about two days. Then Yonni turned up with Grigory in tow," Scott opened the bottle again and took a long slug.

"Yonni? But he's a friend," Virgil said. "He came and gave us his condolences when you.."

"When we thought you were dead," finished John. "He really had us sold. So what's going on, Scott? I found the records you left and read your notes, so we know about the thefts. Was that why they took you?"

Scott finished the water and left the bottle to float. "Not all of it. You know how passionate they feel about their homeland? About how they were invaded by Bereznik? They see themselves as patriots, planning to drive the Berezniki out of Croatia. They've turned Thunderbird Five into an orbiting weapons platform with missiles aimed straight at Katania and two other Bereznik cities. When they found out I was auditing the computer records and especially the blueprints for the station, they decided they had to get rid of me."

"So why didn't they kill you?" Alan asked and was promptly shushed by his brothers.

"No, he's making a good point," Scott took the water bottle Virgil handed him. "Looks like everyone on their team likes me, except Grigory, and they decided to just keep me and let me go after they shot the missiles off." He uncapped it and took a swig. "Thing is, if they fire on Bereznik from this station, it'll draw return fire and probably be blown out of the sky. One thing Bereznik isn't short of, it's advanced weaponry."

"So what happened to you? The way you look, Bro, I'd guess somebody up here doesn't like you," Gordon asked. "Looks like you've been roughed up pretty good. You don't look like the beauty of the family anymore."

Scott laughed, then winced. "Right. Two escape attempts. I lost both times. Hard to fight when you're pinned to the wall and in microgravity."

"So when are the missiles due to be fired?" John asked, opening his tablet computer and booting it up.

"I don't know, I just know that the target is Katania and two other cities," Scott replied. "Hey, any chance I can get a shower? It's been a while and I probably reek."

"We'd never admit it," John said with a grin. "But yeah, you stink. Hmmm, looks like the station is on an orbit that will take us in range of Katania every 18 hours. Could be today, could be any day."

"So what do we do about Yonni and his bunch?" Gordon asked, arms folded over chest. "Call the World Police?"

"Call Dad," Scott said. "If we call any police or government agency, our cover is blown and so is this station as a Thunderbird. We need his advice."

"Dad'll be glad to see you, Scott," Virgil said quietly. "He didn't take news of your death very well."

"Yeah, I can guess that," Scott's face fell. "I'm sorry to put you through all that, guys."

"Hey, you had a great funeral," Alan broke in. "We'll show you your memorial when we get home."

John fired up the videophone application and called Tracy Island. Grinning broadly, he said, "Dad? There's someone who wants to speak to you," and handed the tablet to Scott, while all the brothers clustered around him, smiling.

"Hi, Dad," Scott said, a little shyly.

Jeff Tracy's eyes opened wide as his face split in a big smile. He sat down suddenly behind his desk. "Scott….You're alive! How are you? What happened?" he demanded. "You look like five miles of bad road, son."

"I feel like ten," Scott replied, rubbing his suddenly watery eyes. "I'll give you a rundown. We need to plan strategy here…"


	19. Chapter 19

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those of you who are Captain Scarlet fans, I've arranged a bit of a crossover but am fudging the time lines by a few years to make it work. And I am assuming that International Rescue was 'born' in 2065, hence I'm going with the later timeline. Also, sorry about the shortness of the chapter. It's tax season in the U.S. and I'm doing three things simultaneously.]

CHAPTER 19

Not taking his eyes off the son that had been returned to him alive, Jeff asked the brothers, "So how is it all going? Do you know who our terrorists are?"

"I can answer that, Father," Scott said and explained the situation with Yonni and his 'patriots'. When he heard that Thunderbird Five had been equipped as a missile platform, Jeff's eyebrows raised.

"That must have taken a lot of juggling," he commented, deep in thought. "I had thought that the World Police would be the appropriate force to call in for this. And when this was a simple embezzlement and kidnap, it was. And then, there's the publicity. The last thing we need is to be tied to this space station in the press, and that is what would happen if this isn't handled delicately. For now, though..." He lifted his head again, meeting Scott's eyes. "First thing, Scott, you're coming home. You look terrible and I know that your grandmother won't be denied a chance to coddle you once she knows you're all right."

"But Dad," Scott began and was interrupted by Virgil.

"You're right, Dad. He's got a concussion and a broken arm. He won't be any use to us up here. Alan can take him home."

"Hey wait a minute! No use...?" Scott protested just as Alan joined in, "What do you mean I can take him home? Why am I always the taxi-driver? John can pilot a space craft just as well..."

"Hold it!" Jeff's voice rang out over both of his sons. "I think that Virgil's suggestion is a sound one. Alan, you'll take Scott back to the island and remain here until further notice. " He turned to John, standing to one side. "John, have Scott show you the missile access before he goes. Disable those things; make them unfirable by any means necessary up to and including the destruction of Thunderbird Five. There are enough spare shuttles currently docked to evacuate the station. International Rescue is a non-violent organization and we aren't going to start our existence with a million deaths on our consciences. Virgil and Gordon, you help in any way necessary. John has the computer skills, Virgil the engineering skills and Gordon..."

"Yeah, Dad," Gordon said ruefully. "I can do the grunt work."

"I'll be in touch when I know what authority to send to apprehend your terrorists. Until then, keep an eye on them and keep them away from that room."

"No, Dad," Scott shouted over his father's voice. "That isn't going to work. When Yonni and his friends find out that I'm not there in that room, they'll know that they've been compromised. They'll panic and take action immediately," he glanced at his brothers gathered around him. "And the first thing they'll do is try to kill any of us they find on board this station." He shook his head. "No, what we need is time to deal with the situation. Either to take care of them ourselves or bring in the authorities. In any case," he smiled crookedly, holding out his right wrist to Virgil. "I think you need to put me back. But feed me first, huh?"

Scott stayed silent during the argument that followed, but the inescapable logic dogged his entire family until, at last, Jeff gave in. "All right," he grumbled. "I don't like this. You know how much I don't like this. But I guess Scott is right. Okay, I'll call the authorities but Scott, be careful, huh?" Jeff eyed his son over the long distance. "And you boys watch out as well," he looked over the rest of his sons.

"Don't worry, Dad," Scott gave him his patented smile. "I don't have to try to escape anymore. I'll be perfectly safe, if a little bored."

After Jeff signed off, the brothers clustered together, plotting. Scott munched on the meal bars Gordon had rummaged out for him while he listened to his brothers. To Scott, it reminded him of similar gatherings before pulling pranks on teachers they particularly disliked. Good to know that the group dynamic still worked. That would come in handy if International Rescue ever really got off the ground.

"Okay, to recap," John repeated. "Scott goes back into durance vile. Alan and I go back to installing the artificial gravity system, but with one of us working in front of Scott's door or within earshot at all times…"

"You'll have to leave it unguarded some times," Scott reminded them, finishing his sandwich. "They have to visit me to leave me food. And gloat, of course."

"Okay, we'll take regular meal breaks," Alan offered. "And why don't we leave a bug in your room. It shouldn't be noticed among all the other electronics. That way we can keep an eye on you."

"Okay, how about this? Al and I work on the gravity system install. We leave Virgil in the room with a case of space sickness to watch the bug and give us the nod if Yonni and company arrive…"

"And what about me?" Gordon asked hopefully. He was enjoying all the derring-do.

"Pulling up floor plates and prepping the next section for installation, Gordon," John said with a vaguely malicious smile. "You're doing the grunt work."

"Situation typical," Virgil said, thumping Gordon on the back. "Sorry you keep getting stuck with the scut-work Gordy, but you're good at it."

"Yeah, you guys keep telling me that," Gordon muttered.

* * *

><p>TRACY ISLAND<p>

Jeff Tracy made a few calls and was finally connected to Charles Grey, the commanding officer in a new world security agency that was forming.

"I understand from Sir Jeremy Hodge, that you are the person to talk to about an international matter of some delicacy," Jeff Tracy said to the white haired man in uniform that appeared on the screen.

"Yes, I've read the file and spoken with Sir Jeremy," the other man said crisply. My official code name will be Colonel White when Spectrum is chartered, all communications should be addressed to me in that form."

Jeff frowned. "So what is Spectrum all about? Some kind of international espionage agency?"

White smiled. "Not quite. World security is a better description. The corps will be made up of the elite from various world military and security forces. We deal with threats to international peace as well as interplanetary matters."

"I see," Jeff said thoughtfully. "Does Spectrum have authority to act yet? If you haven't been chartered.."

"We're still in the design stages, but we do have personnel and authority granted to us by the World Government and we work with utmost secrecy. I understand that your problem is of that nature," White consulted a piece of paper on his desk. "I understand that International Rescue is expected to be operational within two years?"

Jeff's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "You must be mistaken, I…"

White smiled. "Oh, no need to worry, Mr. Tracy. We've been aware of International Rescue for some time. We'd hardly be worth our charter if we didn't. Rest assured that your secret is safe with us; the service you plan to provide will benefit the entire planet and we look forward to working with you in future."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jeff said, not sure whether to be pleased or worried. "Well, this is the nature of the problem…"

After Jeff Tracy had summarized the problems with the Berezniks, White was nodding. "Yes, I can see why you were referred to us. With your permission, I'd like to assign two of my best men to the problem. They are both well-versed in the situation in Bereznik. One of them may already be known to you," he pressed an intercom. "Lieutenant Green, please sent Captains Blue and Magenta to my office…"

Moments later, two men walked into video-range. The first was dark, almost Italian looking, in a brightly colored uniform. The second man was pale blond, almost as pale as his son John's coloring with bright blue eyes. He looked vaguely familiar…" Adam Svenson?" Jeff said in surprise. "I thought you were still flying for the World Aeronautic Society. At least that's what I last heard from your father…"

The man in blue focused and laughed. "Mr. Tracy! How are you sir? How's Scott doing? Still in the Air Force? He still complains that I signed up with the wrong outfit."

"No, he'll be flying for…a different outfit," Jeff said cautiously, eyeing Colonel White. "You understand our need for security…"

"Perfectly. Captain Blue will need to be informed of your situation. Do you have any objection to my filling Captains Blue and Magenta into the details of your organization?"

"No. No, Adam's an old friend of the family; I've known him since he was seven and his father for at least twenty years. Fill him in. Adam, I assume that you won't be informing your father," Jeff said.

Captain Blue blushed a bit. "No sir, of course not."

"Good," said Jeff. "And Captain Magenta will need to know as well. You come well vouched-for, Col. White," Jeff said. "Determine the level of information needed by Captains Blue and Magenta. Your contact person will by John 'Thompson' on the station." 

* * *

><p>SPACE STATION<p>

After Scott had finished lunch and drunk another bottle of water, Gordon took him back into the white room. Alan and John set to work on the deck plating in front of the hidden door, determined to distract any Bereznikis who tried to go inside.

Inside the room, Scott showed Gordon the hatch that gave access to the missiles. When they opened it, Gordon whistled under his breath. "Wow, those are XB-30's, the newest missiles developed for the Army. I wonder how they got their hands on these babies…" He closed the door with respect. "John and I will be trying to disable the firing command system, hopefully we can reprogram the software." He quickly set three bugs on the walls, one facing Scott, one the doorway and the last facing the missile hatch.

"Well, if anyone can throw a monkey-wrench into things, Gordon, you'll be the one," Scott grinned, then gestured towards his corner. "Not that I'm anxious to spend any more time here, you understand, but we'd better get to it."

"Yeah," Gordon reluctantly pulled the tool bag off his waist. "Okay, I'll fix the chain again. But are you really sure you want to do this, Scott?"

"What choice do we have? If we nab them now, we have to call the World Police with no guarantee of secrecy. The press will get a hold of it and we're sunk. We have to have time to deal with all this. I'm not worried," seeing the look on Gordon's face, Scott repeated. "Honestly, Gordy, I'm not. You guys are out there and I know you'll watch my back. Besides, all I have to do is sit tight while you do all the work. I just have to wait and be rescued."

"Okay, if you say so," Gordon finished welding the chain back together, then slipped the mini-welder into Scott's left hand pocket. "If you do need to escape, it's fully charged."

Scott put his hand in the left pocket and found the welder, along with a granola bar and a small transmitter. "Thanks, Gordon. It'll be fine. Let me know how you guys are doing, okay?"

"We'll keep you updated, Scott. Don't worry. See you later!" Gordon waved and left


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

TERRA VISTA HOTEL

A day later two new crew-members were welcomed on board. Hank and Bob, who had been let into the plan, met Adam "Stevens" and Patrick "Donnell" at the hatch and welcomed them aboard. Their new team-mates, who had recently lost a member, were waiting for them in the space hotel's lounge/dining room.

Adam, a tall blonde man with blue eyes, went immediately to a man enough like him to be a brother and shook his hand. "John! It's good to see you," Adam grinned broadly at John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan.

The Tracy brothers crowded around Adam, whom they'd known for years. "We were really surprised when we found out you were going to be helping us out," Virgil said cautiously.

"I heard about Scott," Adam said for anyone overhearing, eyes wide and blue. "I'm sorry he's not able to be here to greet me." Virgil and John exchanged glances while Patrick moved forward with his hand out.

"Hi, I'm Patrick Donnell, I'll be working on the team too. You're John? I'm pretty good with computers if you need any help," he slung his duffel over his shoulder. "Where do we bunk?"

"We're down the hall this way," Alan pointed. "You've got the compartment next to ours. It's not exactly a room, more of a broom closet but I don't think you'll mind."

Both men followed Alan, with the rest of the brothers taking up the rear. As they cleared the doorway from the lounge, Yonni appeared from a side route and grabbed Gordon's arm. "Who are these men? They look new."

With difficulty Gordon swallowed down the rage that threatened to consume him and he gave Yonni a sad smile. "Scott's replacements, at least Adam is. Patrick decided to join him, so we'll make up the gap and actually add one to the team."

"I see," Yonni watched the little group in the distance. "By the way, do you know whatever happened to the audit Scott was doing?"

Gordon shrugged. "John looked over Scott's notes but we couldn't make any sense out of them. John says everything looks fine to him, and anyway we're here to do a job. We've let that part of the project go." He smirked a bit. "You know what Scott was like, he was always pretty anal about stuff like that. Not one of his pleasant qualities."

"Oh, I see," Yonni suddenly looked more cheerful. "Well, I hope that you all decide to stop by our table at dinner. I have just received a package from my wife."

"We'll be sure to," Gordon promised. "I know that Adam and Patrick would enjoy meeting you." He took a quick glance down the empty hall. "I'd better go, Yonni. See you later!"

"Have a good afternoon, Gordon!" Yonni waved as Gordon moved quickly away. 

* * *

><p>That evening, Yonni paid the white room a visit loaded with bags of water bottles and food. Scott was in his place, sleeping this time.<p>

"Scott," Yonni said, moving toward his prisoner. "I have news."

Scott pried his eyes open and looked at Yonni with ill-concealed dislike. "What? The hotel is having its grand opening and you're letting me go?" he asked wearily, rubbing his head. "Or maybe you've brought me some more barf bags?"

"I am sorry, Scott, that you hurt your head but that was your own fault. If you had only cooperated, we would not have needed to…"

"Bash my head in for me, huh?" Scott finished. "Well, the trash bag's full and I'm still nauseated, so unless you brought chicken soup, I don't think I'm hungry." He watched as Yonni cautiously removed the old trash and food bags then replaced them with his new supplies.

"Still you should be grateful that I didn't listen to Grigory and just kill you," Yonni nodded his head toward the second man floating near the doorway. "I still could."

"Yeah, I know," Scott said. "And nobody will miss me. So, what's the news you have?"

"Your brothers have returned and there are two new members on your team. Adam and Patrick will be replacing you."

"I see," Scott said with disinterest. "Now give me some real news. When are you firing off those missiles and letting me out of here?"

Yonni laughed. "Soon enough, my friend. We must wait for the time to be politically right. It's nice to know that you're anticipating it as much as we are."

Scott rattled the chain on his right wrist. "What choice do I have? I'm not going anywhere until you finish with this station. So come on, give!"

Yonni looked at his captive for several seconds then sighed. "I would love to tell you, Scott, and ease your mind. But I have no authority to share the knowledge with you. Suffice it to say, it will be soon. Come, Grigory. Let's leave Scott to think about that!" He turned and, with Grigory, left the room.

Scott waited a few minutes until the two Berezniks had left to pick up his small transmitter and put it to his ear. Facing the bug on the wall, he said, "Did you get that?"

All four of his brothers were crowded in their room, along with the Spectrum agents watching the screen that showed Scott in the room. "We're reading you at plus five, Scott," Virgil said. "Sounds like we don't have much time left."

Scott thumped the wall behind him with his fist. "Yeah. I just wish I could have gotten more detail out of him but I couldn't push it. Grigory was there."

"You ought to meet the Spectrum guys," Alan said cheerfully. "You'd recognize one of them."

"Hi Scott," Adam said. "Haven't seen you since we went up in that antique B-2 bomber! Didn't expect to find you here."

Scott's eyes widened. "Adam Svenson? Wait a minute, you're with Spectrum? How on earth did that happen? I thought you were still a spy…"

"Yeah, well, I was recruited by Spectrum a short time ago, then I got called into a meeting about this new super-secret organization that'll be doing impossible rescues. So you and your family are International Rescue now? Or at least you will be once we get your little terrorist infestation taken care of." His eyes narrowed. "How you holding up, bro?"

"You remember my 21st birthday when you took me on a bar crawl? Well, I pretty much feel like the morning after, but this isn't what you'd call strenuous duty. So do you have a plan for us yet?" Scott's tone went sober. "We don't have much time left until they bomb half of Europe, or at least the sections controlled by Bereznik."

"I've got some ideas. Col. White went over the situation with us. But understand that we can't afford to antagonize Bereznik. They're in talks with the World Government right now; they might just come into line."

"And if they do, Bereznik stops being a rogue nation and the Croatians lose support for their freedom fight. That does put us on a short timeline," Scott paused thoughtfully. "I'd say the best course is what we'd already planned: to quietly disable the missile firing system without tipping them off. John, I think their firing system operates out of the primary computers controlling Thunderbird Five. Have you made any progress?"

"Not much so far, but I'm still working on it," John replied, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't been able to get past their encryption."

"Maybe I can help," Captain Magenta said. "I have some computer skills."

Captain Blue stifled a smile. Before Spectrum, Magenta had been the kingpin of a highly successful computer crime organization. An offer of greater challenge and a pardon had brought him into the fold. "I think that's a good idea. There isn't much Patrick can't make a computer do."

"Just take care that the Bereznikis don't catch you," Scott cautioned. "They could move up their schedule if they feel threatened."

"I do have a suggestion," Captain Blue said. "Someone should try to disable the system physically so that even if a command is sent, the missiles don't fire."

"I could do that," Gordon said. "I've worked with these before, so I'm somewhat familiar with them. Problem is, if we start taking apart the room that Scott's in, we're likely to get caught."

"We could find the exterior hatch," Alan moved over to the computer. "See, here's about where the room is. There has to be an exterior exit for the missiles to fire. We could go outside in suits and take it apart from there."

"That sounds doable," Captain Blue said. "What do you think, Scott?"

"I'd say do it," Scott replied. "I'm not in a position to work from inside."

"Well, everybody else has a job," Virgil said. "How about Captain Blue and I?"

"Well, you could always install the artificial gravity system," Scott answered.

The group dispersed and began their respective jobs. Virgil found that Alan and John had almost completed the work. "We may have this active and ready for testing pretty soon," Virgil said as he fastened down some wires.

"Good. I can think of some tactical uses for a sudden burst of gravity," Blue commented. He installed some components and replaced the floor plate.

They continued working quietly until Virgil's watch beeped and John's face appeared. "What is it, John?" Virgil replaced another floor plate and started on another.

"We're coming into range of Bereznik. Ask Captain Blue whether he has anything planned." John looked over his shoulder and nodded. "We aren't making any progress here yet. Magenta says that a professional devised this encryption but he's working on it. Alan and Gordon are suited up and on their way outside."

Blue's eyebrows shot up when he saw the face on Virgil's watch. "Keep working on the encryption." He turned to Virgil. "Where are Hank and Bob right now?"

"They'd be up top about now." Virgil replaced the panel he'd been working on. "You think the Bereznikis would use the Command Center?"

"Why not? It's the station's center of operations. Let's go take a look. Do you have a weapon?" Blue patted his waistband where his own gun resided, with loose shirt tucked over.

"Yeah," Virgil replied with distaste. "Did you get that John? Our fireworks might be starting soon."

"Got it. I'll relay to the others," John said and his picture winked out. 

* * *

><p>"What kind of encryption problem are you having?" Scott asked John when he called.<p>

"The system has been encrypted with a series of passwords known only to the individuals who created them. We're running a program that will search for the possible passwords at each level, but that will take some time. It may be that something personal to the programmer has been included."

"Personal to the programmer," Scott pondered, then smiled. "How about 'povititsa'?"

"Nope…"

"Um…'Croatia'?

"No…" 

* * *

><p>When Virgil and Blue made it into the hallway leading to the command deck, Virgil caught sight of Yonni at the same time that Yonni saw him. Yonni pushed off and closed the airlock door that sealed off command. "Damn!" Virgil growled and activated his communicator. "John, do you have the override codes for the command deck? They're in there, at the computers. I think they're going to set the missiles off right now!"<p>

"I'll check," John replied and frantically began hitting computer keys. They heard his muffled voice, "Magenta, keep working on the firing system. They're activating the missiles. I'm working the doors…." More keys tapping... and John's face reappeared. "No luck, Virg. My codes don't work. I'll call Brains, you try to take the doors apart."

"FAB," Virgil replied and turned to Blue. "Let's get the tool kit."

"John, did that mean what I thought it meant?" Scott had been left on the line while John took Virgil's call.

"Yeah, it looks like launch is a 'go'," John's face was flushed. "I don't have an ETA."

"Well, we've got more to worry about than that!," Scott said, keeping his voice calm. "I'm on the back-end of the blast and Alan and Gordon are right in front of those missiles. We've got to get them the heck out of there!"


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

"Alan, Gordon, you have to get out of there. The missiles have gone into firing mode," John said urgently into their communicators.

"But we're at the hatch, John. We haven't even tried to disable the launch yet…" Gordon glanced over at Alan, who added. "John, we have a chance to stop the whole thing. How much time have we got?"

Gritting his teeth, John radioed back. "Alan, I don't know how much time. Assume there isn't much. Get the heck out of there! Now!"

John had left all the brothers in the circuit when he made the call. Scott balanced the transmitter in his right hand while holding the cutting torch in his left. "Guys, you've got to get out of there because these missiles are going off very soon. And I could sure use some help cutting loose from this shackle if someone could get in here before those things launch…"

Virgil cast a stricken look at Captain Blue until he realized what Scott had just done. The only thing that could jolt Alan out of a stubborn mood was fear for a brother. He added, "Yeah, Alan, we're tied up in here. You two have the laser cutter, don't you? Go get him out of there or Scott's gonna get the back blast! Hurry!" Amen, Virgil thought and focused on taking apart the control center door.

"On our way," Gordon's anxious voice replied. John, Virgil and Scott all heaved sighs of relief. Now for the next issue.

"John, how's it going on the encryption?" Scott asked.

"Still stalled. Got any more suggestions?"

"Um….Miryana….baccala…" His broken left arm twinged and Scott fumbled with the transmitter, then dropped the mini-welder. Scrabbling after it, he watched in frustration as it floated away from him. "Damn! I just lost the mini-welder…Alan, Gordy, put on some speed, willya?"

"Still a bust on the encryption…"John's almost-calm voice came over the transmitter.

"Ahh.." Scott rummaged through his limited supply of Serbo-Croatian…"How about Hrvatska? Spelled H-R-V-A-T-S-K-A…it's Croatian for the country Croatia…"

"Uh…" He heard whooping over the comm. "That's got it! We're in! Okay….uh-oh…First missile fires in five minutes…"

Scott eyed the little door leading to the missile access and gave his chain a hard tug. The welder hadn't helped, he was still attached. "Where are they aimed for?"

"First one is Katania, then Dubrovnik, Moscow and then…The Hague and London, England," John's voice came out strangled. "They don't mess around, do they?"

"Not happy with the World Government, I'm guessing," Captain Blue's voice came over the comm. "Virgil gave me his watch. I'm putting the last panels in on the artificial gravity system. The instant we get the doors open, I'm activating the gravity to throw the terrorists off, so be ready when the ground comes up to hit you. Gordon, Alan, you still on the line?"

"Yeah," said Alan's breathless voice. "We're waiting for the airlock to cycle right now…"

"Well, get back out there and help Bob and Hank evacuate the station. If it gets down to gunplay up here, we need to get the non-combatants away and they'll need a space pilot. Gordon, you go help Scott. Acknowledge.." Blue's voice was crisp and unhurried.

"Acknowledged," Gordon's tense voice came over the comm. "On my way." 

* * *

><p>As soon as the airlock had finished cycling, Gordon was moving out as fast as he could. Alan immediately closed the door to begin the process of cycling back out again.<p>

Just outside the doorway to the room, Gordon found his way blocked by Yonni, holding a gun.

"Well, hello Gordon," Yonni said almost casually, eyeing Gordon's space suit. "Given up on trying to disable the missiles from outside?"

"What are you doing here, Yonni?" Gordon asked evenly, eye on the gun. "Why aren't you in the control center with your friends?"

"Originally, I was going to free your brother before he could be either burned to a crisp or suffocated when the exterior wall melts from the backblast," Yonni replied.

"And now?" The gun hadn't wavered. Gordon mentally reviewed the principles of zero-grav movement and what he knew about hand to hand combat. Leverage. That's what Alan had said…

"And now?" Yonni repeated. "You have all caused so much trouble. I'm inclined to wait here for the missiles to launch and report to my friends that the mission has been successful. It seems that you will wait with me."

"He was your friend," Gordon said. "You've done enough. My family went into _mourning_ because of you!" He grabbed an overhead beam and shot his feet out with a kick. Yonni zigged and Gordon's attempt went to one side. Gordon felt something pass his left ear and realized it was a projectile. "Yonni, you idiot, you can't fire bullets up here! You'll depressurize the place!" He pulled himself closer and regrouped for another try.

"Metal darts," panted Yonni. "Just as lethal and won't pierce the walls. Just …you!" He tried again and Gordon dodged, returning with another swinging kick to Yonni's midsection.

As Gordon's boot connected, he felt the floor hit him in the butt. The gravity worked. Good. He gave Yonni the fierce grin that his brothers had learned to beware and waded in. 

* * *

><p>Virgil was down to the last two wires in the doorway. "John, Adam, I'm almost through. If you're gonna do something, you better do it now. I could use some reinforcements."<p>

"On our way," John radioed back. He and Magenta grabbed their computers and made their way to the command center door, Magenta's fingers still tapping on keys in an attempt to abort or redirect the missiles.

When they got to the doorway, Blue had arrived before them with a small remote in hand and a grin on his face. "You ready for some gravity?"

"More than ready," John smiled back and held his computer more tightly. "Okay, Virg. Let's go."

Virgil nodded and cut the last two wires. The command center door shot open and Captain Blue hit the remote. They found themselves bouncing onto their feet and seeing six men in the command center go tumbling onto their backs or stomachs.

Blue in the lead, the four men rushed into the command center. "They've got a laptop wired into the main panel," Magenta shouted and ran for it, closely followed by John. Magenta got to the panel first and began working, so John gleefully piled into the fray next to Virgil and Blue. "I've got a lot to get off my chest with these thugs," John shouted to Virgil as he punched one terrorist in the gut.

"You and me both, brother," Virgil's eyes glinted as he tied up a dazed and winded terrorist, then went for another one trying to sneak out the door. "Wish Alan were here instead of ferrying evacuees. He's got some angst to work off…" Virgil ducked as a fist shot toward his face and recognized Grigory as his attacker. "Oh, I have some scores to settle with you!" Virgil grinned wolfishly and kicked out, bringing Grigory to the floor. "This one's for Scott!" he growled and expertly aimed a blow at Grigory's face. "And this is for Dad." Kick to the ribs.

He was lining up a third blow when Captain Blue restrained him. "You don't want to kill him, Virgil," Blue said mildly. "At least, not before he can stand trial."

Virgil eyed the subdued Grigory, huddled on the floor. "Tell me why I shouldn't?" He slowly got to his feet. "I've got a lot of scores to settle with this bunch.

"Well, for one thing," Blue hoisted Grigory to his feet by the shirt collar. "We still need to know how to shut down those missiles." He turned to Grigory. "How about it?"

Grigory spat blood and a tooth at Captain Blue. "Ići dođavola!"

John grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and took him away from Blue. "You don't understand, Grigory." He pushed his face in close and spoke slowly and softly. "I don't have Virgil or Captain Blue's scruples. You hurt my brother. You hurt my family. Now you're planning to kill millions. Tell me how to disable those missiles or I put you out the airlock. Now." John fixed cold blue eyes on Grigory and just smiled.

Grigory stared back. John shrugged and hauled Grigory toward the command level airlock.

"Hey! Aren't you going to stop him?" Grigory yelled at Captains Blue and Magenta. "You're with the World Government, aren't you?"

Blue and Magenta exchanged glances. "We don't have a charter yet," Magenta drawled.

"We aren't exactly official," Blue said mildly. "Sorry. Can't help you. Besides," Blue smiled, showing all his teeth. "Scott's an old buddy of mine."

John, grim expression never altering, tossed Grigory into the airlock and slammed the door. He activated the intercom. "Well, Grigory? What's it going to be?"

* * *

><p>In the white room, gravity returned. Scott found himself hanging by an arm from the ceiling. At least, he reminded himself as he fought for purchase on the wall, he wasn't hanging by the broken arm. It couldn't get much worse than this, could it? He heard a clunking noise coming from behind the missile access door. The system was opening the exterior access panel and racking up the first missile to fire. A minute or so later he heard the whoosh of something igniting. "Guys, you can rescue me any time now…" he said into the transmitter with barely suppressed panic. "The wall is starting to glow."<p> 


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Scott's call shocked both his brothers. John shouted, "Virgil, go see what's up with Gordon and get Scott out of there!" Virgil, face pale, grabbed the toolkit and ran from the control center.

John hit the intercom button for the airlock. "Grigory, my brother is on the other end of those missiles, so I'm not feeling very forgiving just now," John's voice lowered to a growl. "Get me into that firing sequence or you'll get to meet the missiles outside. I'll give you a count of three...One."

"You can't do this! It is murder! I'm a patriot!" Grigory shouted frantically.

"Killing a million people is murder...Two."

"I am sorry about your brother but he brought this on himself..." Grigory whined.

"That's not going to make me feel any more liking for you, Grigory. Give me your answer..." John heard the silence, then moved his hand over the control. "And...Three!" He hit the airlock button and soon they could all hear the whistling sound of air escaping from the lock.

"Yes! I'll tell you!" Grigory cried.

"I'm listening," John said impassively without moving his hand. "Better start telling me now if you're serious about this Grigory. There won't be any air soon."

As Grigory began babbling instructions, John cut the airlock release and began cycling air back into the chamber. Soon Captain Magenta was smiling. "I've got it. I've terminated the shot for the remaining missiles." He looked up at John, solemn-faced. "It's too late to terminate the last one. It's going out, although I've altered the trajectory. It should burn up in the atmosphere, any fragments will come down in the middle of the ocean instead."

John smiled with relief, then tensed at the last piece of news. He reached for his watch. "Virgil? All the missiles are shut down except for the one launching now. What's the status on Scott?"

"Working on it," Virgil's breathless voice came over the comm. 

* * *

><p>Gordon had never fought anyone with whom he was so evenly matched. He and Yonni had been pummelling each other for what felt like hours, Gordon succeeding in knocking the dart gun away from the other man. Still, neither man gave ground and Yonni just wouldn't give up. Gordon heard Scott's anxious message on his watch and stiffened, while Yonni just smiled. He could hear the rumbling sound coming from behind the wall and the thought of Scott trapped in there tormented him. Finally Gordon grinned maliciously and pulled a dirty, ungentlemanly street move and kicked Yonni in the groin. Yonni went down and Gordon grabbed the dart gun and shot past him through the small door.<p>

The room was full of fumes. He could see that the wall was softening and giving off smoke while droplets were flowing down into pools of melted metal.

He looked up. Scott was hanging by one arm, breathing heavily and coughing. Gordon threw the gun into a corner, then climbed the wall, kicking in electronic components to make footholds where necessary. He pulled out his welder when he got next to his brother. "Sorry, Scott, but this is gonna be really close to your arm...Might burn a bit..." he said apologetically when he fired it up.

"No problem," Scott choked. "Just get me out of here."

Even fired up on full, the welder was taking its sweet time working on the chain. Then Gordon had an idea. He changed the focus and began to melt the wall the shackle was attached to. As he expected, the thin aluminum began to separate more easily. Within a couple of minutes, the molten aluminum was trickling down the wall. The shackle came away, both Gordon and Scott tumbling down to the floor.

Gordon crawled out from under his brother's limp body and helped him up. Putting his arm under Scott's right shoulder, he heaved him up and they limped toward the door.

Just as they opened the small door, Gordon could see Virgil pelting down the hallway. Yonni was gone, but Gordon could hear the whistling of air beginning to escape as the wall melted. "Virgil, help Scott!" Gordon yelled and pushed Scott through the doorway ahead of him.

Virgil reached out and caught his older brother by the arm, moving them both away from the doorway and making room for Gordon to get through. The whistle was getting louder and they could all feel the air rushing out. "Shut the door, Gordon!" Virgil shouted as Gordon scrambled through. Gordon grabbed the metal door and, bracing his foot against the wall, managed to pull it closed as the whistle grew to a howl. Overhead a half dozen alarms were going off, warning of the loss of atmosphere.

When the door closed the wind stopped and the howling dampened. Instead, they heard a low rumble. Realizing that the missile was firing, all three scrambled to get as far away as possibly, preferably behind airtight doors.

The felt the lurch when the missile took off and ran to the nearest window to watch it pass. "Where's it going?" Scott murmured.

"Captain Magenta managed to change the trajectory; it'll burn up in the atmosphere...there it goes." The three men stood watching the missile explode into a million sparkles. "There's going to be a really beautiful meteor shower over the Atlantic tonight," Virgil said.

"What happened to Yonni?" Gordon looked around.

"I don't know," Virgil said. "I didn't see him on the way here..."

"There he goes," Scott pointed out the window, where the one remaining shuttle was pulling out of dock. "Damn!"

"Doesn't matter," Virgil smiled at his brothers. "We're all alive and we have Thunderbird Five back. That's enough for me."

"Yeah, you have a point," Scott took a last look over his shoulder. "And hey, the artificial gravity actually works! Ow..." He lifted a foot and massaged a bruised calf. "Now that didn't hurt in free fall..." he grumbled.

"C'mon, Scott," Virgil grabbed him under the shoulder. "Let's go back to our room and get the air-cast back on you. I've got some pain meds with your name on 'em too."

"Food?" Scott looked up hopefully. "Maybe a shower?"

"Oh, definitely a shower. And some clean clothing before the stench drives us all off the station..." Virgil and Scott limped off to the room. Gordon watched them go with a big smile and made his way to the Control Center.

He found John and the Spectrum agents securing the remaining terrorists. "You know about Yonni?" Gordon asked.

"We saw the last shuttle take off," Captain Blue said with a pleasant smile. "Don't worry. We alerted one of the Angels; she'll make sure that he doesn't get away."

"Angels? What? You've got God on your side?" Gordon asked, lips twitching.

"Our pilots," Captain Magenta said. "A squadron of women. The troops are colors, the pilots are angels. Rhapsody will make sure Yonni doesn't go anywhere. Destiny will be here in an hour or so to pick up our terrorist friends. We'll see to it that they're dealt with according to the law. Adam and I'll be accompanying them. How about you? Did you get Scott out in time?"

"Scott's fine. He's getting a shower and some food," Gordon said with a grin. "Virgil's with him."

"Do you need a lift back to earth?" Captain Blue asked. "We'd be happy to drop you off at your base."

John shook his head. "We ought to check with Virgil and Scott to see what they want to do, but we probably should stay up here and finish the work. But we're very grateful for your help."

Adam smiled. "It's been a pleasure working with all of you." 

* * *

><p>An hour later, a fresh-smelling Scott and Virgil were on the deck to join Gordon and John in time to see Captains Blue and Magenta off. The prisoners had been stowed in the shuttle and Captains Blue and Magenta shook hands with each Tracy brother.<p>

"If any of you decide that you don't like the rescue business, Spectrum could use you," Adam said.

"Nah, " Gordon answered, "That's way too exciting for us." 

* * *

><p>FOUR MONTHS LATER<p>

The last weld had been put in, the final components exhaustively tested and Thunderbird Five was ready at last. The hole in her side had been patched and the missiles were collected by Spectrum, although the racks and software remained part of her operating system. Thunderbird Five's first assigned space monitor would be John, serving his first 30 day shift. Scott had gone back to base to recuperate and be fussed over by the rest of the family. Virgil went with him, having developed a distaste for the flavor of ginger that was to last him the rest of his life. As he put it, there were other more qualified family members to don space suits. He'd keep his feet on the earth, thanks.

Alan and Gordon were part of the final crew and were feeling nostalgic and a little bit guilty leaving John all alone. John, on the other hand, was elated.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this!" he said joyfully. "Peace and quiet. None of Gordon's dirty socks floating around in zero gravity. I don't have to listen to Alan's musical choices while we work. But most important," he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I don't have to be in command of anyone! Scott can take over on the ground and I'll just relay calls and weather conditions. I haven't worked on my new book in months and I can't wait to get to it."

Alan was still miffed at having been sent to evacuate the station instead of fighting terrorists. "Well, I can tell when we aren't wanted. Let's go home, shall we Gordon?"

Gordon grinned and looked wistfully around the station. "There were times I never thought we'd finish this. But she's all yours, John. I've got Thunderbird Four waiting for me. Yeah, Alan, let's go home."

The two boarded Thunderbird Three, now with complete International Rescue signage and, with John watching, debarked from Thunderbird Five for home.

On Tracy Island, Jeff and Scott Tracy were having a final teleconference with Colonel White. "The offer stands, you know," White said. "We're quite impressed with each of your sons' calm under fire. Should International Rescue close for any reason, I'd happily commission any of them into Spectrum."

"Thank you, Colonel," Jeff replied with a proud smile. "But they have jobs. I have to say that I'm also gratified that you're developing an orbital base after having seen Thunderbird Five."

"Yes, well, I can see the security advantages to a sky base. Although we'll be in a low geostationary orbit, the base will be pressurized. I did want to confirm that we're setting the missiles off tonight in the thermosphere, while you've seeded world news outlets that the bankrupt Terra Vista Hotel is breaking up in space and is expected to come down tonight," Colonel White said from the screen.

"We're expecting that, " Scott said from his spot next to his father's desk. "And we really appreciate your arranging with the ISC for Thunderbird Five's orbit to be allocated to a top secret Spectrum project. That'll keep pirate and other satellites out of our space."

"It's been a pleasure to be of service," Colonel White replied. "If you need any further assistance, don't hesitate to call on us."

After the call was ended, Scott stretched. His father stood up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Oh, I was going to get some sun by the pool, Father," Scott replied. "Being in space so long, you miss the natural light."

Jeff's expression took on a sad note, remembering the sorrowful time when he'd thought he'd lost this son forever. "Well, I'm glad we have you back again, son. But don't forget, now that Thunderbird One is finished, you need to start testing her. Brains has finished on the protocol and I signed off on it this morning. That is, if you want Thunderbird One to be ready to fly...?"

Scott grinned. "Sir, yes sir! One more Thunderbird ready for the sky. I'll go talk to Brains about it right now."

As Scott left the room, Jeff was left to meditate on the process of creating this organization. His sons were all enthusiastic and talented. The work was progressing. And someday soon, International Rescue would truly be a reality.


End file.
